Overload
by totallystellar
Summary: Richie has been having terrible headaches and finds himself and a powerless Madelyn Spaulding captured. They escape with the help of Frieda Goren and Dakota's favorite news reporter, Shelly Sandoval. The four must fight against the unknown and band together before they are killed - or worse. Gradual, realistic Richie/Madelyn. Please R&R!
1. Chapter One

**Title:** Overload

**Genre:** Drama/Action/Adventure

**Rating:** PG-13 to possible R (for violence)

**Summary:** Since the second Big Bang, Richie has been getting smarter. But soon his intelligence becomes an issue of interest to others, and he and three unlikely people must band together, working past rivalries and struggling through obstacles while trying to figure out what their respective fates are. Unconventional nonslash romance. R&R

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Static Shock. If I did, it wouldn't be cancelled and they'd be making a Season Five. :-(

**Author's Note:** I'm posting this on after first posting on Static Shock Fan Page, which is a super-cool Static Shock forum. You can find the URL in my profile. This fanfiction will hopefully be unique and original… This is Richie-centric, and I'm bringing to the surface minor characters. I'm trying to pull them out into the spotlight where they can shine with all the hidden potential that's squashed in their diminutive roles.

**Chapter One**

It was a crisp November night in Dakota. The sky was black with sparkling stars dotting across it and a large gibbous moon hung overhead, shining bright moonbeams down and illuminating the land below. Static and Gear soared high above the city, peering through the misty clouds and scouring the streets for trouble. The city was relatively quiet now, and crime was currently at a low. The moonlight caught on the glass windows of buildings and splashed back into their eyes, but that was the only bother of the night. They were circling the rather large boundaries of Dakota, sometimes skimming the treetops or performing potentially dangerous acrobatic tricks in mid air to pass the time.

Static stood straighter on his flying disk, stretching his legs and reaching his arms upward with a satisfied groan. He plopped down, this time sitting with his legs dangling off the side. He leaned back on his hands and wiggled his fingers, sending out crackling streams of electricity in his wake and steering his course. Gear, who was flying alongside him, gave a small laugh.

"What?" Static asked good-naturedly. "Even a superhero needs his rest."

Gear grinned back and yawned, stretching as well. He'd changed his costume a bit to account for the colder weather, adding a dark green overcoat similar to Static's to match his uniform. The longsleeves had white stripes along their length and Backpack still hung in its usual place on his back.

"You got that right, bro." He agreed, his voice sounding heavy. "I definitely need some z's."

"Rich," Static said disbelievingly, turning to face his best friend. "That's all you've done the past week and you still look like you got hit by a train. Or maybe Godzilla. Or maybe Godzilla riding a train."

It was true; if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication, Richie hadn't been sleeping well, and even his jokes had been far and few. He was paler than normal, his face looked gaunt, and he was leaner than he'd ever been before.

Gear yawned again, louder.

"Yeah, well, I _do_ feel like I just got hit by a train. And not only was Godzilla riding it, he was the conductor." He responded dryly. "Been feeling bad for a couple weeks… killer headache too." He added, as if an afterthought.

They flew in companionable silence, passing above the surrounding forest, which was already changing with the coming of winter. The green leaves were falling from their homes in the treetops in crisp, multi colored flurries. Golden brown, reddened yellows, and terra cotta hues made the forest floor a lively homage to fall. Gear swerved a bit in the air, dipping a bit too far and almost colliding with a tall tree. He weaved through the chilly air like a drunken bird, rapidly losing alititude as he did so. Static gasped rushing forward to help, but Gear seemed to realize it a second before he would have crashed, and pulled up sharply. The treetop rustled, and leaves swirled upward and circled him once before he righted himself in the air and looked down warily at the offending plant.

"Yo, Gear, you okay?" Static called, genuinely concerned. He was back to standing on his disk, and his hands were already white with power, ready to help. Gear pushed his boots into high gear and was hovering next to Static a moment later. He rubbed his temples distractedly under his helmet, closing his eyes before answering.

"Uh, yeah, just… lost control… I'll, um… hey, I'm gonna, ya know, head in, you can finish patrol for tonight, right?" He asked weakly. Static raised an eyebrow.

"Richie, what's wrong with you? This is the fourth time this week you've bailed on me, and if you're –"

"V!" Gear cut him off sharply, backing away. "I'm fine! Just… a headache, okay? Headache."

And with that he turned and rocketed off toward his home, leaving Static confused, worried, and left to guard Dakota on his own.

* * *

The bell signaling the start of class rang just as Virgil skidded through the classroom door. He bolted forward, slammed his books down, and vaulted right over the desk and smoothly into his seat behind it. A few people clapped. Virgil looked behind him and grinned sheepishly, giving a feeble wave.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hawkins, but impressive gymnastic tricks will _not_ allow you to pass my class." Came a curt voice.

Virgil froze and his smile fell. He turned around in his desk so that he faced the front, startled to see his teacher standing right above him, palms flat on the desk, leaning forward with a very angry scowl on her face. Virgil gulped.

"So, you, uh, find me impressive?" He joked weakly.

"_Mr._ Hawkins," She began, her sharp voice pelting him with every word. "You have been late to my class more times than I can count. I've given you ample warnings, ample! And now I'm going to carry out the punishment I said I would. You have detention, Virgil. And I'm calling your father; I believe a conference is in order."

She spun and stalked regally back to the blackboard, where she began to explain a complicated math problem to the class. Virgil groaned.

_'Just what I need… My pops having a conference with my teacher… Ugh… Maybe Richie can help me pull my grade up before then… it might soften the blow…'_

He glanced to his right, suddenly noticing that his best friend wasn't there. His eyes widened and he looked behind him, catching Frieda's eye. When the class finally ended, he paused in the doorway, waiting for her. She was one of the last to exit, having a seat toward the back of the room, and he was impatiently tapping his foot by the time she got there. Daisy was with her.

"What's wrong, Virgil?" She said with concern as they started walking to their lockers.

"Frieda, Daisy, have either of you seen Richie?" Virgil asked.

"No," Frieda said, pushing her red hair out of her eyes. "But I'm on my way to the journalism office. I need to make a phone call to Shelly Sandoval; it's part of the internship I've got at the news station. I can check for him around there."

"Yeah." Daisy said, nodding. "And I'm heading to Chem. Lab. He's into that kind of stuff, maybe he skipped to do an expiriment or something. What's up, is something wrong?"

"Thanks," Virgil said greatfully. "'Cause, he's been acting real funny an' something was wrong last night but he wouldn't tell me."

"I saw him yesterday, but not since then. And you're right, he's been acting really strangely, Virgil." Frieda frowned. Daisy nodded.

"Yeah, I noticed that too."

Virgil leaned against the wall of lockers, arms crossed over his chest while Daisy twisted her locker combination and watched as the door swing open. She crouched and set her bag on the floor. After flipping through some of the folders within, she withdrew two and a heavy hardback book and shoved them inside, in turn grabbing two notebooks from the locker and putting them in her book bag. Frieda was doing the same in the locker next to Daisy's.

Daisy stood and swung the bag over her shoulder. She shut the locker door, and faced Virgil.

"You're really worried, then?" She asked quietly. She and Frieda started walking again and Virgil walked backwards ahead of them.

"Well, yeah!" Virgil said. "Look, he's been actin' weird for weeks, not sleeping, not cracking his unfunny jokes –"

"Not eating," Frieda supplied. She pushed Virgil out of the way of the water fountain, which protruded from the wall, saving him from what could have been a rather painful fall.

"Yeah!" Virgil agreed. "And that's, like, _extra_ weird."

"You've got a point. But if he's not at school, you should see if he's at his house. Maybe he stayed home sick. He looks like he could use a sick day." Daisy suggested.

"What to do... what to do..." Virgil muttered under his breath. He stopped suddenly, and Frieda gave a grumble of annoyance as she almost ran into him.

"I know!" Virgil said brightly. A lightbulb had practically lit above his head. "I'll see if he's at his house! Maybe he stayed home sick!"

With a grin, Virgil dashed toward the school doors, accidentally knocking an innocent bystander over as he ran.

"Virgil!" Daisy cried, cupping her hands around her mouth to amplify her voice. "Virgil, school isn't over!"

"It's fine, girl, I'll make it up!" He called. He pushed open the door and hopped down the steps, bolting off in the direction of the Foley's.

Frieda and Daisy glanced at each other rolled their eyes.

"Stupid boys..."

* * *

Virgil stopped in front of Richie's house, a bit out of breath. He trotted up the steps and rung the doorbell, waiting only a minute before a kind-looking, redheaded woman appeared at the door. In one hand she held a tray on which there was a glass of water and two small pills, and her other hand was pressed against the open front door.

"Virgil," She said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Mrs. Foley," He said quickly. "I was just wondering if Richie was home."

"Yes, he's home." Mrs. Foley answered, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. "Poor boy's got an awful virus. It's probably one of those twenty-four-hour bugs."

"Mm hmm?" Virgil said inattentively, leaning sideways and trying to see behind Richie's mother and into the house.

"Couldn't even go to school today, he's feeling so bad." Mrs. Foley continued, giving Virgil a strange look as he stood on his toes and peered past her. She paused, than narrowed her eyes. "Speaking of that, why aren't _you _at school right now, Virgil?"

Virgil froze, straightened up and let out a nervous laugh.

"Uh, early release?" He offered, rubbing the back of his neck. The older woman looked skeptical, so he hastily changed the subject. "May I come in?"

"Well, alright," Mrs. Foley said, still looking a bit unconvinced. "But make it quick."

Virgil punched the air in triumph.

"Thanks, Mrs. F.," He grinned. "And here, since I'm goin' that way I'll take his meds." He deftly lifted the tray from Mrs. Foley's hands and made his way to Richie's room. He balanced the tray with one hand and knocked with the other. There was a pause, and then a faint voice from the other side called weakly, -

"Venido adentro."

Virgil raised his eyebrows, but opened the door and walked in. Richie was lying on his bed, dressed in the baggy white shirt he always wore under his hoodie and some atrociously bright plaid pajama pants, a gag gift from Virgil two Christmas's ago that he'd never thought his best friend would actually wear. His face was ashen and his lips were blue, and a light sheen of sweat glistened across his skin. Under his glasses, his eyes were red and the purple circles hadn't left. Richie, never one to turn down food, hadn't ever been thin, but he'd been in shape; now, however, Virgil noticed just how much weight his friend had lost. Richie was bony now, and where the neckline of his shirt dipped, his collarbone was visible, pronounced more than ever. When he saw who was at the door, he gave a tired but happy grin and sat up, only to groan and sway dizzily before falling back onto the pillows.

"Richie!" Virgil cried in panic, hurriedly setting the glass of water and the aspirin on Richie's desk and hopping into the desk chair. He half pulled, half wheeled himself over to the bed. "Rich, what happened?"

"Dunno," He responded with a weak shrug. "Apenas... un dolor de cabeza mayor y mayor, bro."

Virgil raised his eyebrows. Richie didn't seem to realize he'd spoken another language.

"Man, I have no idea what you just said."

Richie frowned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Juste un commandant, un mal de tête majeur, un copain."

"Wait… What!" Virgil said in alarm, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Dude, are you speaking in French? C'mon, I hardly passed English last semester, you expect me to know foreign languages?"

Richie's eyes widened to almost comical proportions, and he cleared his throat twice.

"I said, 'Just a major, major headache, bro.'" Richie said slowly. His eyes lit up. "Hey! English! All right!"

"Uh, yeah…" Virgil said. "About that…"

"I don't know," Richie said helplessly. He glanced at Virgil. "It's been happening all the time… and the headaches… those suck... and sometimes I'll forget what I'm doing…"

"Rich, something's really wrong with you. You need to get to a doctor, right now." Virgil said, giving his friend another once-over.

"No!" Richie exclaimed, sounding panicked. His eyes shifted from the door to the window to the balcony, as if looking to escape. "No, V, no. I don't need a doctor, I'll be fine, I'll – "

"Whoa, man, chill. Just chill," Virgil soothed, startled by Richie's reaction. "It's okay, it's okay." As Richie seemed to calm a bit, Virgil twisted the chair around and pushed with his legs on the floor, propelling the chair and himself to the desk, where he grabbed the water and aspirin and brought them over to Richie. The blonde glanced at the medicine and then at Virgil.

"I don't need medicine."

Virgil blanched.

"Dude, if anyone in the world needs medicine, it's you."

Richie resolutely shook his head.

"No. I don't need it."

"Richie…" Virgil began warningly, brandishing the glass of water. Richie looked away.

"V, I don't need it, really, I'll be fine. I just need some sleep and –"

"Richie." Virgil interrupted. Richie looked up at him hesitantly. "Shut up and take the freaking pills."

"I'm not _that _sick!"

Richie nearly fell off the bed in surprise as Virgil lunged out of the chair with his hand outstretched toward him. Realizing what his friend was trying to do, he scrambled backward, out of reach. Virgil climbed on the bed in pursuit, making Richie move even farther away. Richie threw off the covers and nearly bolted out of bed, only to sway before making it two steps. When he stumbled to the balcony door, Virgil took his chance and tackled him, making him fall flat on his face.  
Virgil promptly sat down on his back.

"Stop it, V! Get off!" Richie yelled angrily into the carpet. Virgil pressed the back of his hand against Richie's forehead. He was burning up. Virgil frowned.

"Now, Richard," He began in an imperial voice, purposely using Richie's full first name. "As your best friend –" Here Richie muttered some very offensive words that Virgil wisely did not respond to – " – I take it upon myself to look after your welfare. And, be that as it may, when I see you clearly suffering –" Richie growled something along the lines of, "I'll show you suffering," " – I must do everything in my power to make you better. Now, take the stupid meds and be unsick before I have to force you to."

"Will you just get off me?" Richie said in an exasperated voice, still a bit muffled. "You're making my stomach hurt."

Virgil stared at the back of Richie's head.

"I'm sitting on your back." He said pointedly.

"And you're heavier than Shamu. Just get up!" Richie added unhappily. Virgil stood, offering Richie his hand. Richie, in an act of defiance, didn't take it, but ended up needing help anyway, which greatly took away from his defiance and made him look rather pathetic. Virgil helped him over to the bed. Richie glared over his glasses at Virgil (who merely gave a satisfied smirk in response) before tossing the pills in his mouth and downing them with a large gulp of water.

"So," Virgil said after a moment of silence. "What exactly _is_ wrong with you?"

Richie frowned. He was still looking bad; he was pale and weak and still a bit sweaty and hot, general symptoms of fever. And then there was the thundering headache. But it wasn't just a fever – there was something wrong, something very wrong. It was a deep sense of foreboding that throbbed in tune with his pulse, and Richie didn't like it. The very thought of doctors trying to figure out what was wrong scared him, though he didn't know why. He tried to put it into words so that Virgil could understand; there was something bad happening, something wrong… but he couldn't place it.

Virgil was skeptical.

"Rich, I think what you need is rest and some time to recoup. If you need me just hit me up on the Shock Vox, you got it? I better head home or Pops'll have a cow."

Virgil stood up and headed to the door, but Richie's voice stopped him.

"Hey, Virgil?" He called tentatively.

Virgil turned. "Yeah, man?"

"Thanks," Richie said sincerely. "I mean, for, you know, stopping by."

Virgil grinned.

"No prob. That's what friends are for, right?"

Richie gave a weak laugh, and Virgil smiled before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Hours after Virgil left, Richie had to admit that he _was _feeling a little better. Deciding he needed some fresh air, he pulled off his covers an swung his legs to the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, he stood and shakily made his way to the balcony, shoving open the door and leaning heavily on the railing.

He stared out at the night sky, gaze locked on the stars that littered it. The streetlights were glowing and cars zipped past on the street below. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit as the cool, refreshing night air blew around him.

So it was no surprise that he was shocked to say the least when his world exploded in pain.

His grip on the railing failed and he sunk to his knees, holding his head in his hands. He desperately tried to move back inside, to reach his computer desk and pull open the drawer that held his Shock Vox, but another wave of pain engulfed him and he doubled over. The last thing he saw was a burst of brilliant white light and then he knew no more…

* * *

**Author's Note: **Please review. And check out the forum. It's definately worth it. Many debates and discussions go on there and it's very fun. :-) 


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two **

Richie Foley was a very well educated young man. He'd read the words on ancient scrolls of philosophers like Plato, and he'd studied the Torah, the Bible, the Koran. He'd read the research papers of countless brilliant men and women, and spent hours pouring over theories and calculations. And he'd also read many books; novels, short stories, biographies, anything he could get his hands on to keep his churning mind occupied. But in anything he'd read about someone waking from unconsciousness, it had been described as a sort of gradual process, like drifting through fog into reality again. Not painful, really. Possibly pleasant.

Total and complete bull.

Richie's traverse from black unconsciousness to awareness was like being hit with a ton of bricks. It was sudden and shocking and all together a disconcerting experience. His eyes snapped open and he was assaulted by a torrent of bright light, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head and a severe case of cottonmouth. His whole body was covered in a dull ache that beat slowly with his pulse. He felt like he'd fun a marathon.

He squinted blearily, trying to see past the offending brightness to his surroundings. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, only to find that he couldn't. He was bolted on to a table that was angled slightly down with metal cuffs at his wrists and ankles. Two thick metal bands, one across his chest and one over his knees, secured him effectively to the table. Immediately he began to panic, thrashing uselessly against the restraints. He moved frantically until his skin was rubbed raw, and logic settled in along with the pain.

His eyes had adjusted to the light now, and he surveyed the room he was prisoner in. It was a clean, blank slate with a very sterile, commercial feel. The only pieces of furniture in the room was the metal table that he was strapped to, which was placed in roughly the center of the room, and a rolling chair that was tucked neatly under a long piece of stainless steel that was bolted to the wall as a desk. Richie lamented that he couldn't see behind him and succeeded in only feeding his paranoia and hurting his neck when he tried to crane his head upwards to scan the rest of the room.

He desperately wished he was dressed in his Gear uniform and had Backpack with him. At least with his tech he could find a way out, even if he couldn't contact Static or any other help. But here he was in his flimsy white shirt and outrageous, fashion-police-ticket pajama pants. He grumbled dryly under his breath about laundry days and making good impressions on bad guys.

He shifted uncomfortably and then let out a little hiss of pain when a random bolt from the band across his chest poked painfully into his side. There was a sharp intake of breath behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Wh-who's there?" Whispered vaguely familiar female voice filled with trepidation.

"Who are you?" Richie responded, happy to hear that his voice was much stronger and confident than he felt.

"I – I'm – I asked you first!" The girl replied, somehow managing to sound bossy even through fright. There was a muffled sound of her shifting around behind him, and Richie suddenly realized that she must be strapped to an uncomfortable metal table, just like he was. Which meant they were both in the same boat.

"Hell, why not?" Richie muttered to himself, throwing caution to the wind. "I'm Richie Foley. Now tell me who you are."

"Richie?" The girl gasped. "Good lord… Richie Foley?"

"Yes." Richie answered tersely, clenching his jaw in irritation. "I don't know how you know my name, but I would advise you to tell me how you found it out and who you are."

It was filled with an unspoken promise of "or else…" but Richie knew it was simply an empty threat hanging in the air. What could he do while strapped to this damned table anyway? He couldn't even sneeze at her and hope to get her covered with at least one or two Richie-boogers, let alone get up.

The girl sounded miffed as she responded.

"Of course I know who you are," She sniffed. "You and your stupid friend Static nearly killed me. I'm Madelyn Spaulding, you stupid twit."

Richie's jaw dropped and he was glad to be facing away from her, lest she see his surprise.

"Madelyn Spaulding!" He exclaimed in surprise. "What the hell? I thought you were docked up on Valium and watching Barney in a padded cell!"

Madelyn laughed bitterly.

"Come off it, Richie." She said condescendingly. "We both know that I was never insane. Stop defending Virgil Hawkins. You treat him like a god or something."

Richie didn't know how to respond, but opened his mouth anyway to say _something_, something to disagree, to retaliate, but she beat him to it.

"Don't try to pretend, Richie Foley." She continued, her voice getting louder as she spoke. "You saw through it all and you never said a word. You let him lock me up in an insane asylum and you didn't say a word to anyone. I saw you! You _laughed _with him! You let him get away with putting away an innocent person… did you know I was injected with all sorts of drugs and who knows what? Do you _know_ the way they look at you, those doctors? I feel thoroughly violated, and have no one to blame but Static for this. And, consequently, _you_, Richie Foley, because you kept your little boyfriend's big old lie and _let me rot _in that hellhole."

"Hey!" Richie said angrily. "Don't turn this on me. You tried to kill my best friend – you tried to kill us both! You brainwashed the entire school, for God's sake, and were planning to make the whole world bow down to Madelyn Spaulding."

"Just because I caused a few _tiny _disturbances in Dakota, you were going to let me live out my life in a mental institution?" Madelyn asked incredulously.

"You're crazy," Richie said shortly. "And I'm ending this discussion now."

"You can't end this discussion!" Madelyn said heatedly. "_I'm _not done with this discussion, so you can't end it, so there!"

Even though Richie couldn't see Madelyn sticking her tongue out at him, he knew she was immaturely doing so. He had the urge to rub his temples as he felt a headache coming on, only to find himself restrained. He let out a sound of frustration that came out frighteningly like a growl and Madelyn suddenly stopped talking.

"Look," Richie said with forced calm. "I don't like you. You don't like me. But we obviously have something in common to be here, together, kidnapped. I don't believe arguing over past indiscretions in a productive way to spend our time, as we have no idea what will happen to us, who has us, and if they're watching us even as we speak." He heaved a heavy sigh. "So, Miss Cleo, fess up and tell me what they've got on you."

"Don't talk to me that way!" Madelyn screeched.

"Keep your voice down," Richie interrupted impatiently.

"I said, don't talk to me that way!" Madelyn repeated, albeit softer this time.

"Just answer my question."

"I don't know the answer."

Richie frowned. He had a headache and she was making it worse.

"Don't be stupid, Madelyn. Just tell me." He said wearily.

"Look, I really don't know, okay?" Madelyn said, suddenly sounding close to tears, which caused Richie to become horrified. _What if Madelyn started crying? _Crying, in the middle of a… a whatever this was. A kidnapping? A staging zone where test specimens were stored for easy access?

Richie's mind was going a mile a minute, working over who would kidnap him and why. And how Madelyn fit into the situation. He'd been kidnapped by Alva before and used for testing and such, but Alva seemed to have been finished with him. Richie hadn't come across any Alva Industry files that would hint to further Bang Baby research, and definitely no current references to him or Static. Ebon had captured him once or twice as bait to lure Static to him, but this was much too complex for the shadow doppelganger, who was interested more in revenge and relatively mild crimes than Bang Baby biology. But Madelyn... it didn't fit... something was missing.

The lights suddenly flickered and went off. Madelyn let out a surprised scream and Richie was decidedly manly as he managed to stifle his own, and they were plunged into total and complete darkness. Richie strained his eyes and ears for any sound. He was listening so intently that Madelyn's voice scared him.

"R-Richie?" She stammered.

"Yeah?" He responded, not really paying attention.

"Is that… you breathing?"

"Stop trying to scare me, Madelyn. No need to resort to petty psychological attacks when your powers don't succeed in melting me to a brainless puddle on the floor." He snapped uncharacteristically.

"Richie…" Madelyn drew out slowly, and held her breath. Richie listened. Sure enough, there was the soft, telltale inhalation and exhalation of breath somewhere in the room, from something other than Madelyn and him. He stiffened, incredibly conscious of his incapacitation.

"Hey!" He said loudly, sounding very brave. He was quite proud of his voice tonight. "Who's there?"

He heard Madelyn whimper and felt a pang of sympathy for the girl despite his own growing fear. There was no answer, but the light that had seared Richie's eyes when he'd first awoken was back in full force, a spotlight just illuminating his face.

"Wha –wha –hey! What the – " Richie sputtered, reflexively trying to throw his arms in front of his eyes but once again finding himself tied down. The light was creakily pushed away, reminding Richie of the swinging light of a dentist's chair, and a face swam into view.

Even with his glasses on, Richie had to blink stupidly a few times before the person in front of him was no longer fuzzy. It took a moment, but after the spots dissipated and the colored blob in front of him sharpened, Richie stared.

"Hey!" Madelyn called. She obviously saw the light and realized that someone really was in the room. "Foley, what's going on?"

The person in front of him was a fatherly looking Hispanic man with a thin brown mustache and a toupee on his head. He was wearing a clean white lab coat, and beneath the open coat he wore a simple light blue, button-up collared shirt and navy blue slacks. His shirt rounded out in the front where his potbelly protruded a bit, and he leaned over Richie with a sincere expression of concern on his face. He wasn't overall threatening, but something about him unnerved Richie. They were large and sympathetic as he looked at Richie. There was something in his eyes, like he knew a terrible, troubling truth that the blonde didn't.

"Hey," The man whispered, touching Richie's cheek gently, as if Richie would break, pity in his eyes.

"Who are you?" Richie asked in a quiet voice as he tried not to cringe away from this strange man. He wasn't quite sure why the sudden need for low voices when he and Madelyn had been shouting minutes ago, but feeling somehow obligated to speak that way.

"I can't stand what they've been doing, and I won't let it go any further." The man murmured. "But I believe I maybe be too late to save you." He looked up briefly, behind Richie, where Madelyn was practically squirming behind her restraints. Richie had an uneasy feeling that he wasn't talking about their being locked up.

"Can you unchain me, please?" Richie asked, looking hopefully at the man. The man fumbled with his belt loop and unhooked a large circle of keys. They clinked together almost melodically as he stuck the key in the first lock and the chest band came open easily. It was like music to Richie's ears and the song it sung was freedom.

The man had barely finished turning the key in the second ankle band when Richie joyously leaped from the table. He stretched, pulling his hands high above his head and cracking his knees, ignoring the dizziness and darts of light that cluttered his vision as he did so. He leaned heavily against the table, his body still pained and his headache still fierce, as the kind man unchained Madelyn.

While taking deep breaths and pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses to relieve his migraine, Richie suddenly realized that there was a bracelet on his left wrist. It was a thin metal chain that wrapped loosely so that it fell just onto the top of his hand and moved when he walked, but not enough to slide out of. The thin chain remained unbroken except for a part of the bracelet where, instead of chain, there was a thin strip of metal on which was engraved in tight letters, **PROJ. JULEDE – Cap. 1.D.USA**. He frowned and pulled at it, but it wouldn't break. It merely slid up and down his arm annoyingly.

Madelyn was almost free of the restraints aside from both ankles and was acting very ungrateful, in Richie's opinion. She kept saying things like, "Hurry up, old man," and, "I don't like to be kept waiting." The older man only smiled slightly and patted Madelyn's hand. Even if the man didn't mind, she was grating on Richie's nerves and he sincerely hoped she'd get lost on the way out.

But Madelyn issues aside, Richie's mind was focused on this man who had helped them off of their tables. Sure, he had a kind, sympathetic exterior, but was there an ulterior motive? Was he luring them into a false sense of security before striking? Well, if Madelyn was letting her guard down and getting chatty with this man she didn't even know, there was no way in hell Richie was. He was tense and alert, and so it was no surprise that even without his tech he was the first to sense the danger. It was the faint sound of footfalls echoing outside the room that had Richie hissing into the dim light,

"Shut up!"

Madelyn looked up in surprise at the tone of Richie's voice, and the man's head shot up.

There was no time. When the men burst through the door and had cocked their guns, Richie was already across the room in speeds that rivaled the Flash. The two back-to-back tables were between them and the men, and Richie had pushed Madelyn down from the table to the floor behind the tables, covering her body with his. This, unfortunately, turned out to be one of the worst well-intentioned moves he had ever made.

Her left foot was still halfway in the cuff, and when he pulled her down, it twisted at a disturbing angle that had Madelyn scream out in pain. Richie cursed, unlatching the cuff that had been unlocked but not pulled up, and grabbing Madelyn back down to the floor where she wasn't a target. He muttered his apologies and felt the guilt build up, just like the tears that were about to fall from her eyes. He turned his head away from her and then couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene that played out next. He almost wished he had just watched her cry.

It seemed like slow motion to Richie. He saw the man's eyes widen in fear and surprise, and suddenly he was falling to the floor in a heap, his pristine white lab coat suddenly awash with crimson. He choked and blood came out of his mouth, and he turned his gaze to Richie. Richie held his breath and moved over to him, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"Thank you," Richie whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. The man squeezed back weakly. "What's your name, sir?"

"My name," He rasped out. "Is Andrew Sandoval."

And with a look that wished Richie the best of luck, he drew a gurgling last breath, and lay still. His eyes were open. Richie reached out and gently closed them.

Richie could have stared at the man in shock for days, but he felt a sharp tug at his arm and realized Madelyn was there. And, along with that realization came the second realization that there were two armed men on the other side of the room, blocking the only exit. The slow motion was off and someone had pressed fast forward.

"Richie," Madelyn whispered urgently, her eyes filled with fear and panic. "My powers, they're useless!"

Richie grimaced, peeking his head over the side of the table only to duck down as bullets whizzed by. He fought down the bile in his throat as two stray bullets punctured Andrew Sandoval's dead body, causing ruptured fountains of blood.

"We are under specific orders not to physically harm either of you in any way." Came the monotone of one of the guards. "It is preferable that we refrain from any physical contact." He said, sounding as if he had memorized and repeated this many times. Richie shuddered at the thought.

"Okay," Richie muttered. He looked upwards. "If there's a God, please forgive me for what I am about to do." Taking a steadying breath, he turned to Andrew Sandoval's body and due to the tight space was forced to crawl gingerly over him. Keeping his head down, he reached out and grabbed the toupee off Andrew's head. Richie whispered an ashamed apology to him, and then flung the toupee at the nearest guard.

It was bloody and caught him full in the face.

He let out a surprised yell and dropped his weapon. Richie was on his feet in a second and pulled Madelyn up beside him, half letting her walk, half carrying her out from behind the tables. He grabbed the dropped gun and let go of Madelyn, who leaned her back against Richie's table, propped herself up with her arms and kicked the toupee-man hard in the stomach with her right leg. He doubled over and Madelyn grinned before dealing him a blow to the head that left him unconscious.

Richie was fumbling with the gun. There was blood slick all over his hands and the front of his clothes, and he couldn't get a good grip on the gun and aim it. Before he knew it the second man was in front of him, and the gun was knocked out of his hands. He stared up in horror, taking in the smug look of satisfaction on the guard's face.

The man opened his mouth to speak, reaching into his pocket for something (probably sedatives to keep him and Madelyn calm while they tied them back up again or something, Richie thought), but the words were swallowed as a gunshot rang out from behind. The man's body arched forward, his eyes rolled back in his head, and blood spurted all over Richie's clothes, face and hair. Pressured by the sudden weight, Richie fell and was pinned to the floor, trapped against the back of the table by the weight of a dead body on him.

Horrified, he rolled the man off him and scooted across the tile floor, which was splattered with thick red liquid. He looked up.

Madelyn was leaning heavily on the doorframe, the gun still smoking and held out in front of her. Her breathing was labored and she had red speckles all over her; Richie noticed for the first time that she was dressed in hospital apparel, although she apparently managed to get her favorite color out of the deal (her pants and shirt were both lilac). Her eyes, which had been locked on the dead man in front of Richie, drifted up to his face. He smiled weakly at her.

Suddenly the adrenaline was gone and all the strength seemed to leave him. He was overcome with nausea and rolled over, vomiting on the floor until all that was left was dry heaves. He pulled himself up and looked at his sleeves and couldn't find a place to wipe his face that wasn't already covered in blood, so he wiped his face with his hands, feeling barbaric and dirty. Sinful. His bracelet was bloody.

"I saved your life," Madelyn said abruptly. Richie stood and picked up both the guns. He handed the cleaner one to Madelyn and rubbed the one Madelyn had used to kill the guard on his pants. He ran a hand through his blonde hair out of habit. It was strawberry blonde now. Richie didn't notice.

"We need to leave," Richie said, just as abruptly.

"I saved your _life_," Madelyn said again.

"There's no way we can cover our tracks now," Richie said emotionlessly.

"You are _alive _because of _me_." Madelyn said. She poked Richie in the chest. Richie turned to her, looking down, expressionless. He was taller up close, Madelyn realized. He had dried red specks on his glasses. She had to crane her neck to look at him. Richie had to be about 5'11". At least. She didn't know why she was thinking about Richie's height. Maybe she didn't want to think of other things. Height was safer.

He looked back at the room. At the two dead men.

"Let's go."

**

* * *

Author's Note: Review please. :-) **


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Richie pulled Madelyn along hurriedly without so much as a backward glance at the carnage they had left behind. Richie concentrated all his energy on helping support Madelyn (who was incredibly reluctant about receiving his help) while maintaining a ready grip on his gun. The corridors were dark; Richie suspected it must be some ungodly hour that he would normally have spent sleeping away. Although, lately his nights had been restless, with sleep coming rarely and it fitful bouts due to the constant buzz of his thoughts.

Pressing his back against the wall and peering cautiously around the corner, Richie nodded once to Madelyn before moving forward. She limped, wincing in pain with each step, and it made Richie feel guiltier than it should have. But surprisingly, Madelyn hadn't made a move to complain about her sprained ankle, which was a pleasant surprise to Richie. God knew the last thing they needed was to get into an argument and start up a ruckus. When Richie looked back at her to make sure she was okay, her lips were pressed thinly together and her head was held high despite her limp, which she was covering pretty well in an attempt at retaining her dignity. Her knuckles were white around the cool metal of her own weapon.

They were making progress, Richie thought, trying to be optimistic even though the place was virtually a maze with identical halls that were almost unnaturally symmetrical in appearance. The walls were a clean, unhampered expanse of fresh white paint that, while not truly aesthetically pleasing, created the feeling of solidity that some might have found comforting. Richie, on the other hand, found it unnerving and claustrophobic. The halls seemed to be getting narrower as they moved, or Richie was just becoming more paranoid. But he was at least 100 percent sure of one thing.

He stopped short and turned to face the teen behind him.

"You're slowing us down." He said coolly to Madelyn. She gave an unladylike snort and glared at him down her nose.

"I'm sorry, but seeing as 'us' consists of you and me, that's not a very good argument." She snarked.

"Okay," Richie said, feeling his temper grow. Deep down he knew his anger was misplaced but he couldn't help himself. "You're slowing _me _down. For the last time, hurry it up or I'll be forced to help you."

"_Well!_" The brunette began, but Richie tensed and slapped a hand over her mouth, effectively drowning out her words. She resisted the childish urge to lick his palm when the harsh metallic smell of blood that Richie's skin seemed to be drenched in reached her nose and reminded her of what had happened. She stopped speaking and could hear the muffled sound of voices and footsteps coming closer. Her eyes widened.

Pulling his hand away from her mouth, Richie spun and jiggled the doorknob of the door behind them furiously. It was locked. Richie's eyes darted down the hallway, where shadows could be seen just rounding the corner.

"Move it, Foley," Madelyn snarled, shoving him out of the way and pulling a hairpin from her hair and fumbling quickly with the lock. There was a satisfying click and the door swung open. Madelyn was preparing to lean back and smirk at Richie, but he was already through the door. She would have been seen if he hadn't grabbed her by the waist and physically pulled her in, shutting the door and locking it behind them.

There were cheap plastic blinds over a small window in the top part of the door, and Richie stood on his tiptoes, holding his breath as he watched the figures pass.

"Did Ross and Miller ever check back in with Command to confirm capture?" One of them was saying. He had a deep, gravelly voice.

"No," Said the other man. He was stockier and from what Richie could see from his limited view, was holding some sort of artillery. Which meant the other man was sure to have a weapon on him as well. They paused just feet from the room he and Madelyn had just barely escaped to, and their voices drifted through the wall. Richie sucked in a breath.

"Well, you know how Ross is," Said Gravel Voice with a light chuckle. "Likes to play Riggs to Miller's Murtaugh."

"Not funny," Stocky Man said gruffly, no humor in his voice. "It's that kind of renegade bullshit that gets your ass fired or worse."

"Calm down, man," Gravel Voice admonished. "Miller will make sure that Ross logs it in. Those two kids are helpless, no problems there at all. And if they've escaped, and I mean _if_, as in, they won't escape and this is just me trying to cool your nerves, they can easily be caught."

"I guess." Stocky Man said reluctantly. "The boy is supposed to be a genius though. They can take away the girl's powers but to stop _his_ brain they'd have to kill him. Anyway," He added. "They'll go through hell once they're caught again if they've actually managed to escape."

"Not as much hell as Riggs and Murtaugh over in Unit Ten-Fifty there will." Gravel Voice laughed.

The two moved on, and Richie let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Coming down off his tiptoes, he gently repositioned the blinds so that they looked as undisturbed as before.

He turned to look at Madelyn, who had a look on her face that Richie was sure his own mirrored. Exhaustion (emotional and physical) and fear. He broke eye contact and as he did so realized his left arm was still wrapped tightly around Madelyn's small waist, and he jerked it away with such force that Madelyn stumbled, forgetting that he was basically the only thing holding her up.

She fell over and landed rather unceremoniously in a heap and the only thing that went through Richie's mind was a gladness that she weighed so little, for the thump that resulted was barely loud enough for him to hear and would definitely not reach the ears of their captors. But he guessed it must have hurt Madelyn, because she was pulling herself painfully to her feet, rubbing her bottom with one hand and using the other to push onto a desk as support. She was also glaring at him with anger in her eyes so fiery she could melt steel. Which, Richie idly found himself thinking, would be a rather useful skill during their situation. Welding things shut behind them and all, burning holes out of spaces when the bad guys cornered them…

Oh, wait, was that Madelyn talking? Hmm.

"You better be _so _glad that my powers are on the fritz, Richie Foley," She was hissing with vehemence. "And that I value my life too much to jeopardize it just for the satisfaction of yelling at you until your ears bleed, or you would be in _complete_," She got right up in his face as she emphasized the last words, "and," Dramatic pause, _"utter pain_."

She pulled away from him and smirked when Richie couldn't help but gulp a little. Madelyn Spaulding was kind of scary, now that you thought about it…

In an attempt to keep his dignity intact, Richie turned away and surveyed their surroundings for the first time.

It was an average sized office, with a large mahogany desk placed toward the back. File cabinets lined the right wall, and on the left wall, a cascade of never-ending bookshelves began where the space left for the door when opened ended. There were two chairs angled toward each other in front of the desk, and another chair tucked neatly under the desk.

Richie gazed approvingly at the laptop that sat cleanly on top of the desk, noticing the high-grade label. There was, surprisingly, a bathroom connected to the office. So, there was a G0d after all.

Madelyn plopped down in one of the seats in front of the desk. Richie frowned at her.

"What?" She snapped. "I'm tired and I have a feeling they won't find us for a while. Let me rest."

Richie sat down behind he desk and took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. A headache was coming on again. Bad timing.

"What, am I annoying you?" Madelyn asked irritably.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Richie answered. Madelyn growled. Richie frowned again in answer. "Why don't you use the bathroom first?" He suggested, more to get her out of his hair than anything.

"Stop doing that!" Madelyn said.

"Doing what?" Richie asked, looking at Madelyn as if she was crazy. _'She is crazy,' _Richie thought_. 'Freaking insane asylum patient.'_

"Frowning at me like you're my mother or something." She said, glowering like a child she claimed not to be and lifting her chin in the air. "Cause you're not."

"Great observation, Sherlock," Richie said dryly. "And maybe I'll stop frowning if you'd stop doing things to make me frown. Now, if you don't mind…"

He trailed off and set about turning on the laptop. He almost cursed when he realized how slow the loading process was going, and it wasn't even to the tough part yet. He was just turning it on. It wasn't as if they had all the time in the world.

Madelyn bit her lip and stood over him for a moment. His blue eyes flickered up to hers in confusion at her hand, which was stretched out for him to give her something.

"What?" He blurted.

"Give me your shirt," She demanded bluntly, in a voice that bared no argument.

Richie blanched, and then colored, blushing abashedly at the idea of being shirtless in front of a girl. He suddenly looked a lot younger and Madelyn's mind flashed to the early days of High School. Both of them had been different then, and they both knew how much they had changed. She was seventeen now, a Senior, and he had to be about her age, considering that they were in the same year. For the better or worse, Madelyn had yet to determine.

"I'm going to wash your shirt," She said slowly, by way of explanation, and the look that accompanied that statement obviously said 'you must be some sort of idiot.' When Richie still didn't make any move to remove his shirt, she put her hands on her hips and made a noise of frustration.

"Do you _honestly _want to be covered in that for an indefinite amount of time?"

Richie glanced down at himself. The blood had crusted into a hard brown layer on his formerly white undershirt. He pressed his finger onto his chest and watched as some of the dried blood crumbled off, but his shirt still felt as though it'd been starched with some sort of super-powered spray and ironing technique.

He squeezed his eyes shut as the image of the two men lying dead on the floor of the table room, as he had mentally begun to call it, came to his mind unbidden. He heaved a heavy sigh, and then put his hands at the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head. He stopped as he noticed Madelyn watching. He scowled at her.

"Some privacy, please?"

She turned around huffily, muttering something along the lines of, "Boys are pansy babies."

"Here," She heard Richie's voice and turned. He was standing shirtless, holding out his ruined undershirt to her and obviously wanting her to make herself scarce. But despite herself, Madelyn couldn't stop her eyes from running across his chest. He had broad shoulders and he was coated in wiry muscle under his pale skin. Then she noticed how thin he was.

"When was the last time you ate something, Foley?"

Richie wrapped one arm around his torso self-consciously and mumbled, "Bad schedule, stupid sleeping pattern, no time, kinda sick… not really hungry." He looked up at her with frustration. "Will you take the damn shirt?"

Madelyn took the shirt from him and headed to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and throwing herself against it as she did. She exhaled hard through nose and shook her head to clear the distracting thoughts it held. With a sigh she began to spot-cleaned the front of her shirt and pants, deciding that they didn't need the same soak and scrub routine that Richie's obviously did. When she was sure it was as clean as she could possibly get it, she squeeze the water out of it until it was only damp, and then unrolled it into the air.

It was stained badly, but it was better than before. Much better. She grimaced at the sink, which had a pink residue attached to the surface. With effort she wiped it off. She entered the main office and saw her fellow escapee was aggravated greatly at the computer and was using much willpower to restrain himself from beating it to a pulp. Apparently that brand wasn't so hot after all.

She cleared her throat and tossed Richie his damp shirt, which he speedily donned, desperately wishing for what seemed like the hundredth time that he could have been stuck here with Static the Shock Jock, not Spaulding the Super Psycho.

He pressed a few buttons, unhooked the connection, and replaced the computer as it was. So much help that stupid piece of machinery had been. He walked around the desk and Madelyn reluctantly made room in the bathroom for him to wash his face and hands. He left quickly, not caring to spend more time with the girl than needed, and noticed a coat rack behind the door. A sly grin took over his face. How incredibly convenient.

He nearly died from disbelief at his good luck when he realized there were not one, but two trench coat-type coats and two hats. Perfect. He pulled on the larger of the two coats, displeased to find that it ended at his knees and gave away a large eyeful of neon pants. Stuck by sudden inspiration, he toed off his thin sneakers and, first checking to see if Madelyn was near, shimmied out of his pants, turned them inside out, and pulled them back on. The inside was considerably less bright and would attract less attention. With his coat on and his hat covering his distinctive blonde hair, he could conceivably slip away unnoticed – or at least he could if he didn't have Madelyn tagging along with him.

What the hell did they need her for, anyway? Speaking of Madelyn…

_'Where's the Wicked Witch now?' _He thought. He glanced at the clock on the wall in alarm. They'd been here almost thirty minutes. Definitely time to move. It would be common knowledge among the building staff that they were attempting escape now, he knew it. And undoubtedly, more guards had been called in.

Richie didn't know what he was involved in, but he had the feeling it was much, much more than just being Static-bait or son-reviving research.

He moved toward the bathroom, ready to call her name, when he heard the muted sounds of someone retching.

Furrowing his brow, he knocked gently on the door.

"Madelyn?" He asked quietly. The response was a pathetic gurgle that he took as permission to enter. She had her back to him, her arms over the toilet bowl where she'd obviously just spilled the contents of her stomach. She looked up at him with tears running down her face, which was a bit green.

He crouched beside her.

"What happened? One second you were fine and the next I turn around and you're tossing your cookies like there's no tomorrow."

She didn't even retort back, which is what unnerved Richie the most. She just whimpered, "I just… felt sick. I don't know why."

"Well," Richie began awkwardly, doing his best to be understanding of a girl who was, basically, his enemy. He stood and tugged at her elbow until she rose with him. "Rinse your mouth out, do your thing, and hurry up. We've been here too long. How's the ankle, by the way?"

She bent it experimentally left and right, wincing. She tested her weight by shifting it to either foot.

"I can walk, but it still hurts… you really know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?" She ended sarcastically. She still looked a little pale but her comment set Richie's nerves more at ease.

"Only the special ones, Madelyn, only the special ones," He answered, just as sarcastic.

Richie was glad they were back to jabs and cuts. It made it easier to work. He sobered. "They've probably got us surrounded, and I'd bet Backpack that they're sweeping the building for us like angry janitors after a foodfight."

She sneered at his crass comparison of their situation with the barbaric displays of food playing that occurred at Dakota Union High much too often for her comfort, but took the coat (which thankfully covered her to her ankles and hid her hospital attire) and hat wordlessly.

Richie didn't look at her when he handed her a gun. He didn't look at her when he ran his finger over the barrel of the gun and dipped into the crevices, scratching at any hardened blood with his fingernail that might have gotten stuck inside that could lead to misfires. He didn't look up when he checked the magazine and then shoved it back into place. He didn't offer any explanation as to how he knew as much about the weapon as he appeared to.

Richie peered out the blinds of the door, looking as far left and right as he could.

"Cost clear?" Madelyn whispered, hovering on her good foot.

"Crystal," The blonde quipped.

He turned the knob, and they ventured out into territory were it was open season, and they both knew that to the enemy, they were fair game.

* * *

Virgil was sitting at the kitchen table, mindlessly eating Oreos without really tasting the cookies. He was staring into space, his mind occupied with worried thoughts about his best friend. He had tried to sleep, but something was nagging at him in the back of his mind, telling him something was wrong, that he should go check it out. He crunched down rather aggressively on an innocent cookie and jumped when he heard his father's voice.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked. Virgil blinked at him.

"Or," He rephrased with a chuckle, "maybe about five dollars for your thoughts, considering that Sharon paid about that for that tray of Oreos, and you seem to have eaten your way through most of the pack.

Virgil looked down at the table. There were chocolate crumbs and little crème pieces littered over the tabletop in front of him, along with licked chocolate cookies, cracked off pieces of cookie, and, Virgil was proud to note, a few perfect disks of crème that he'd managed to eat the cookie off of without harming it.

He blushed under his father's gentle, admonishing gaze and said nothing.

"Virgil Hawkins, _speechless_." Robert Hawkins said in mock amazement, pulling out the chair next to Virgil and sitting down. "I never thought I'd see the day."

Virgil gave a half-hearted laugh and Mr. Hawkins frowned.

"Son, what's wrong?"

Virgil sighed and leaned forward on the table, resting his elbows on the hard surface and scrubbing his face wearily.

"It's Rich, Pops. He's been totally off lately. I went and visited him this afternoon and he was down with a vicious bug. I'm worried that the Bang Baby gas is effecting him more than he thinks." Virgil said softly. "Or, that he knows how it's effecting him and he's trying to hide it from me." He paused. "From all of us, you know."

Mr. Hawkins put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder.

"Richie will be fine. I bet tomorrow, he'll be good as new and the same old Richie we know and love."

"Yeah, Pops," Virgil said, giving him a weak smile that he hoped looked reassured. He guessed that it worked, because his father got up and stretched, yawning hugely, before patting his son on the back once more and telling him to get a good night's sleep.

After listening carefully and making sure that his father was indeed upstairs and in his bed, Virgil stood and brushed the cookie crumbs into his hands, clapping the specks free over the sink. He shoved the empty Oreos wrapper into the garbage can, trying not to make too much noise with the wrinkling plastic.

He trudged up the stairs to his room, not even bothering to brush his teeth, and slid under his covers. He tried to convince himself that the queasy, sick feeling that was churning in his stomach was only the Oreos.

He failed.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter will hopefully be out soon. :-) Check the Static Shock Fan Page for neato Fan Fiction, too. Please review in detail!


	4. Chapter Four

**Author's Note: **Ready? Set... Go read!

**Chapter Four**

"Miss Sandoval! Miss Sandoval!"

Shelly Sandoval heard the voice behind her calling her name and briefly weighed the pros and cons of feigning deafness. Well, ignoring the girl would make her happier, that was for sure. She had enough on her mind. But, then again… she'd have to confront her sometime in the near future, and she'd hound her until she got his word in. Maybe she should stop and talk to her now. Get it over with and all that.

'_Nah…'_

Shelly picked up her pace, weaving her way through the noisy, bustling newsroom. There were monitors everywhere and people rushing back and forth, checking the news clips and slides and making sure everything was perfect for when they went on the air. The click of her high heels was lost in the chatter.

The truth was that she really didn't want to be at work, or speak to anyone for that matter. She'd had a wonderful father-daughter evening planned out last night. She'd gone all out and cooked her father's favorite foods, and spent all day in the kitchen just for him. Plus, a trip to the video store and twenty bucks later ensured an after-dinner movie-fest that had been sure to delight him.

But he never showed up. He hadn't answered the million messages she'd left on his machine, and his cell phone was dead or he wasn't picking up. It was behavior totally unlike him. And it worried her to no end.

"Miss Sandoval! MISS SANDOVAL!"

A plump woman at a desk Shelly was just passing tossed the papers she was filing down in irritation and threw her hands up in the air.

"For God's sake, Shelly, shut her up!" She exclaimed exasperatedly.

Shelly stopped and looked at her miserably. This, unfortunately for Shelly but to the relief of her coworkers, gave the screeching girl time to catch up with her. She was a pretty redhead and ambitious to boot, which Shelly admired, but her insistent nature bordered on obnoxious. Shelly had found out in the first week that Frieda Goren was best taken in small doses. The intern was fast approaching, holding a thick folder of papers.

"_¡Ayúdeme, por favor!" _Shelly moaned. "She's coming this way!"

She leaned down to whisper desperately in the woman's ear. "Why is she with me, again, Jen?"

"Because," Jen said, turning back to her filing. "She was promised an internship with the Dakota Daily, but they were filled up at the last minute and she opted for an internship here, since news casting and journalism are basically cousin fields. She's with you because you've got degree in journalism." She scowled and added, "Now just humor her or tell her to get you coffee or something. Just get her away from the rest of us!"

Shelly didn't have time to respond because Frieda had arrived, slightly breathless. The teen was dressed in a crisp blue and white pinstriped collared shirt and navy blue slacks. If she stood next to Shelly, it would have seemed like they had exchanged phone calls in the early morning, coordinating what to wear like middle school girls. Shelly was dressed in a very professional navy blue skirt and blazer outfit complete with nude hose and a white dress shirt. She eyed Frieda suspiciously. Had she dressed like that on purpose…? Shelly had a sudden mental picture of Frieda sneaking into her house and examining her wardrobe and was vaguely disturbed.

"Miss Sandoval!" Frieda said with a mega-watt grin. "Good! For a second I thought you were ignoring me!"

"No, no," Shelly said with a fake smile plastered on her face. "Why would you ever think that?"

Frieda just grinned again and thrust the folder toward the older woman.

"This," Frieda gushed. "Is my portfolio. You'll see inside I've labeled my articles and editorials by date and listed them from newest to oldest. You can clearly see my progress and just by reading a few I know you'll see my journalistic potential if you –"

"Frieda." Shelly interrupted gently, handing her the portfolio back. "You give me this folder every day. I have seen your work. It's very good."

Frieda's grin flickered as she was returned her portfolio, but came back in full force along with a modest blush at the praise.

"Well, journalism _is _my passion," She said, beginning to walk alongside Shelly as the anchor made her way toward her office. "But I suppose this whole news anchor career path isn't too shabby either." She added fairly.

"Actually," Shelly said to Frieda. "I majored in journalism in college. I wanted to be a serious journalist for a major paper, maybe in Metropolis or Gotham… but turns out that reporters with much more credit than me have hogged the best positions. Granted, they have what could be considered unfair connections, but…" She said the last part with a hint of bitterness.

"Metropolis… Lois Lane?" Frieda asked with tentative realization. "Superman!"

"Hmph," Shelly huffed. "Anyway… I do freelance pieces. I've been looking for good leads, interviews, anything to help me break through. I'll be done with local channel broadcasting and on to my name in print."

"That sounds just like what I want to do!" Frieda said enthusiastically, clapping her hands. She was nodding her head up and down fast and her red bangs were fluttering around her face and in her eyes like frightened butterflies.

"So," Shelly said, entering her small office and shutting the door behind the two of them. "What you need to do is figure out an angle, and go for it. You're good at that stuff. It's all in the portfolio, right?" She winked.

The office looked basically the same as any, with the exception of what looked like a humongous collage of photographs on the wall. There were random snapshots of two different cats (which Frieda had come to know were called Boris and Boof-boof), a patriarch who was identified as Andrew Sandoval, and pictures of various friends and family members. Frieda plopped down on the little couch across from the desk.

"Well, I was thinking of doing a story on my friend Richie Foley," Frieda said. "He's been missing for about a day and a half now and no one knows where he his."

"Richie Foley?" Shelly asked absently, skimming through some papers as she sat behind her desk. "Name sounds kind of familiar."

"Yeah, well, when Static first came around Richie was a sighted on the legal papers as a witness to nearly every crime that happened in Dakota." Frieda said. "He just always seemed to be there."

"Oh, really?" Shelly asked over her papers, raising her eyebrows.

"For a while there I thought Richie and Static were like, working together or something." Frieda continued offhandedly, then shrugged. "But then Gear joined up with Static, so Richie was out of the question, I guess. I never did end up asking him about it."

"Sounds like you should have done a story speculating this Richie's supposed innocence in the midst of all these crimes." Shelly said, leaning forward across her desk in a wave of journalistic excitement. "It's more than a little suspicious, isn't it? Some regular kid always showing up at the same time for every bank robbery?"

"It was coincidence," Frieda scoffed. "Either that or he was Static's running buddy or something, but there's no way."

"No way?" Shelly asked. "Why do you say that?"

"Richie's such a geek," Frieda said fondly. "As much as I love him, he'd make the worst sidekick ever."

Shelly tried not to laugh.

"No, see," Shelly said. "That's where I disagree. Who better for a superhero to have as a sidekick than someone intelligent?"

Frieda blew her bangs out from in front of her eyes.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Frieda said. "Richie's one of the smartest kids I know. It's just that he'd just be really… excited about the whole thing. I don't know if he'd be able to keep a secret."

"I still like the idea of him being guilty of the crimes, though," Shelly mummured. "How genius is that? He could play it off like Static he was in league with Static but… Static could just be playing a role, and the 'villains' would just be the scapegoats. Now _that _is cunning," She added appreciatively.

"I don't know," Frieda said, sounding doubtful. "Richie just isn't that kind of person. Neither is Static. And Gear isn't either."

"Ah, Gear," Shelly said, nodding. "I've always liked him. Super-genius, huh? He seems to take the backseat to Static, though."

"Yeah," Frieda agreed. "Speaking of him, forget Richie, it's Gear who would be the mastermind behind it all. Gear's a genius and Richie's just… a regular guy. They're nothing alike. Two totally different people."

"Still," Shelly said dreamily, looking off into space. "It would have made a killer article."

"Yeah, it would've." Frieda admitted softly, smiling a little.

"Lord, the time," Shelly said suddenly, glancing at her watch. "I'd only meant to stop by here for a second... I'm just grabbing my recorder and I've got to run." Shestood and riffled through a desk drawer. At Frieda's questioning glance she looked up and added, "I've just gotten a lead on what could be the next big story."

"Wow! Really?" Frieda questioned, her green eyes sparkling. She pushed her hair out of her face. "Well, that settles it. I'm coming too."

"I'm sorry, chica." Shelly said, shaking her head and patting her hand. "I don't think you should come."

"You just don't want me to get your story," Frieda said slyly.

"Maybe," Shelly said easily. "Or maybe you're a seventeen year old girl who shouldn't be looking for trouble."

"You're only, what? Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? And _you're _looking for trouble." Frieda argued, looking a bit like a child ready to have a temper tantrum. "Why can't I go with you?"

"Frieda," Shelly said warningly.

"Well, I'll just follow you wherever you go, you know." The redhead said stubbornly. "Might as well I have adult supervision for my dangerous antics, huh?"

Shelly groaned.

"Okay, okay!" She exclaimed. "On your own head be it!"

Frieda grinned and led the way to the car.

* * *

"Are your powers working yet?"

"No. I already answered that before."

"Gosh. No need to get tetchy."

"Tetchy?"

"Get a dictionary, gimpy."

"'Gimpy'! I'll show _you_ gimpy."

"If by 'gimpy' you mean 'annoying', than I congratulate you. To be even more annoying than you are right now… Now that's one for the record books."

"I mean I can cause you bodily harm, Richie Foley!"

"Yeah, yeah, gimpy – Yow! That hurt, Madelyn."

"Shhh! Shut up! I hear something!"

Richie froze, pressing his back against the wall at Madelyn's words, hushed dialogue forgotten. He inched forward, feeling slightly silly, and moved until he was at the corner of the corridor, where it made a sharp left into yet another endless hall. He peeked his nose past the edge and saw a figure coming their way. Madelyn was off the wall, standing in the middle of the hall and she was trying to look around the corner. Richie pushed her against the wall to keep her from being seen, but unfortunately forgot his strength; her invisibility was thus rewarded with a thud, which reached the ears of the guard. Richie cursed inwardly as the man advanced.

"Great work, Foley." Madelyn hissed, rubbing her sore back. "Can you refrain from physically abusing me until we're someplace where we won't get killed at the slightest noise!"

"Keep up that tone and you'll be dead before I even get a chance to physically abuse you." Richie growled. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her in the direction from which they came. "Keep up with me. We're backtracking. I wish I had my skates…"

The two hurried down the hall, veering left and on to a darker hall. The only illumination in the darkness was the light-up EXIT signs that emerged periodically.

"Richie," Madelyn whined after they'd been going at a loping run for nearly fifteen minutes. She was out of breath. "I can't do this, not with my ankle."

Richie reluctantly stopped next to an inconspicuous door that was white all the way to the doorknob and blended in seamlessly with the white walls. His mind, which as always was thinking on multiple planes at the same time, noted idly that all the other doors had been wooden with brass knobs. Madelyn leaned against the door for support, only to have it fall open unexpectedly behind her. Richie darted forward and caught her before she could fall to prevent more loud noises, putting his hand over her mouth to muffle the surprised scream she let out. Setting her easily back on her feet, Richie ushered her in and shut the door behind them.

"Why are you always falling over?" He asked irritably, glaring at her. "Every time I turn around I've got to grab you to make sure you don't hit the ground."

"It's not my fault one foot is practically out of commission." Madelyn retorted viciously, brushing some dust off of her coat. "And besides, that was the door's fault, not mine."

"'Kay," Richie said, rolling his eyes. "Now you're blaming inanimate objects. And you tell me you're not crazy."

"I – " Madelyn began.

"Shh," Richie interrupted. There were loud footsteps passing the door. Richie waited until they faded into the distance, but still kept his voice low.

"Hmm?"

"I was saying," Madelyn said, gesturing to the door. "That was weird."

"Tell me about it." Richie answered. "Here we have a door that was obviously made to be as unobtrusive as possible… and it's left wide open. Which would defeat the purpose, so…" He pushed at the door. "It's on a swing hinge!" He said in disbelief. "Okay. _Now _my curiosity has been peaked. We're not leaving 'till we find out what's up."

"Wait," Madelyn said, grabbing his forearm to stop him. "We should go. There's something about how this place feels. It… it gives me the creeps."

Richie raised an eyebrow, looking over his glasses at her.

"Shut up." She said, digging her nails into his arm.

"What? I'm not talking." He said innocently.

"Hmph," She huffed. "I can tell what you're thinking."

"You have your powers back?" He asked, looking hopeful.

"No," Madelyn said unhappily. "But I know you, Richie Foley. And you're thinking that I'm crazy and paranoid and –" He looked down at her hand where her fingers were clamped onto his forearm.

"Now look who's physically abusing who…" He muttered under his breath. Suddenly, he realized she was wearing a bracelet.

He jerked his arm away and grasped her hand, pulling it up to his eye level. He fingered the bracelet that was wrapped loosely on her wrist, ignoring her protests.

"Hold on a second," He said to her.

He turned the bracelet around until he found the thin strip of engraved metal. Hers read, **PROJ. JULEDE – Cap. 2:3. **. Richie dropped her hand. She wasn't protesting any more, just watching him curiously as he rolled his wrist around, trying to get at the engraved metal strip with one hand. He almost choked when he saw that the indents formed by the letters had crusted blood inside them, making it look as though maroon words were painted on the metal instead of a simple engraving. He took a deep breath, pushing back the feeling of nausea that rolled through him.

He held his wrist up to Madelyn's, showing her the words.

Her eyes widened.

"We're… part of a project?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Presumably," Richie said with a grimace. "What else would we be here for, any way? Kidnapped and bound on tables that are practically made for dissecting…" He took her wrist again without invitation and inspected the bracelet, flipping the metal strip and noticing for the first time a code of numbers on the back. He checked his own and saw that he too had a serial code.

"But, I didn't feel bad, really." Madelyn said nervously, fiddling with the chain. "I mean, I didn't feel like I'd undergone surgery or anything. Did we?"

Richie shrugged helplessly.

"Dunno," He admitted. "But something tells me something did happen to us beforehand. Did you see Andrew –" He took a shuddering breath. "The man who helped us. Him. You didn't see his face. There was something in his eyes… he was apologizing, without words. I didn't need powers like yours to understand. Something happened." He said with finality. "I think we might already have been subjected to whatever… whoever these people are, are testing."

Madelyn was shivering.

"I just need to find their computer database or something." Richie said in frustration. "That laptop was a total waste of time. It didn't even start up properly. If I can just get to a good, working computer I can extract any information we need, or at least, I should be able to." He roughly pulled his hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair, then pinched the bridge of his nose, his face scrunched up.

"Ugh… Tension headache…" Richie groaned. "These damn things keep getting worse."

"We don't even know what day it is," Madelyn pointed out. "For all we know we could have been out of it for weeks."

"True," Richie said wearily, scrubbing his face with his hand. "I know that at least if I'm missing, the Hawkins's will inform the police. It's a normal occurrence at my house for me to be missing for two or three days at a time, but when I'm gone I'm always over at Virgil's. Mr. H. and Virgil, hell, even Sharon would notice."

"_I_ was in a mental institution." Madelyn said bitterly. "They have security cameras trained on your every move. They would have known I was gone within minutes."

"True," Richie repeated. "I had some spare time in Study Hall last week and hacked into two or three institution surveillance programs out of curiosity. Pretty basic stuff, but it gets the job done."

"So, do you know what Julede means?" Madelyn asked. She hopped up onto the table and crossed one leg over the other as she sat, leaning back on her arms casually, palms pressed onto the tabletop. "Maybe they were trying to be clever and used Latin or something to disguise the meaning."

She was sitting on the one table in the room. The room itself looked like an average conference room, with a large oak table centered in the room and flanked with chairs on all sides, and a few bookcases on the walls. It was very disappointing to Richie, who had been expecting something more impressive after seeing the door.

Boy in question looked up, rubbing his temples.

"No, no… nothing like it. And that's saying something, because I speak, read, and write fluent English, French, Spanish, Latin, Italian, Russian, Arabic, German –"

"You can stop any day now." Madelyn sniped.

"And about fifteen different forms of Asian and African dialects… Only the most common ones, really," He said modestly. "Those are the easiest. Oh, and a few other lesser known languages spoken on various islands and in Middle Eastern and South American countries." He finished, still a little too smug for Madelyn's tastes despite the polite modesty. She pursed her lips.

"Those though… I'm a little rough. It's no easy feat, you know, staying sharp on my languages when there's no one to talk back." He said cheekily when he saw the girl's reaction. He buffed his nails on his shirt nonchalantly just to tick her off.

Madelyn described Richie in colorful vocabulary. He grinned even wider.

"I'm glad I entertain you," The brunette said unpleasantly at his expression. She straightened up. "Julede. So… we're that. We're Project Julede?"

Richie cleared his throat.

"Presumably. You saw your bracelet."

She wrinkled her nose at the trinket. "Yeah… I wish they could have gone with something more style-conscious though. This is tacky. I bet it rusts. _I _would never have bought anything that rusts."

"Well," Richie grunted, hoisting himself up off where he'd sat on the table next to Madelyn. He wandered around the room, skimming his fingertips over the books on the bookshelf. "Let's hope that you don't have it on long enough for it to rust. I, personally, am intent on leaving this place as soon as – Yahhh!"

Richie nearly fell over as his fingertips danced on the spine of The DaVinci Code and the bookcase gave a tremor that was almost violent. It melted backwards into the wall and Madelyn hopped off the table and hobbled over to where Richie was standing; on moving floor.

The bookcase platform pulled them into the wall about two yards and stopped. Richie hesitantly stood before the bookcase, and then reached out and pressed his hand against the wood. Nothing happened.

"How… disappointing." Madelyn said with a frown.

"No, no," Richie disagreed. "I just have to find the right book. The DaVinci Code was first, then, right? Let's see, let's see, let's – ah! Dan Brown! Angels and Demons!" He reached forward and pulled out the thick spine of the book, and the bookcase still didn't move.

"And you're supposed to be a genius," Madelyn sneered, folding her arms over her chest and looking down her nose at him.

"Super-genius." He corrected automatically. "Now shut up, woman, I'm thinking."

There was a row of encyclopedias on the bottom shelf, and Richie crouched down to see them. He quickly switched the A-B and the C-D volumes so that C-D was first, and A-B was second. Then he pulled both books out at the same time.

With a groan, the bookcase moved, sliding sideways into the wall. It opened on to a small passageway that gave way to a narrow stairwell that spiraled down into darkness. Richie stood from his crouch and grinned at Madelyn's confused look.

"The DaVinci Code," He explained. "And Angels and Demons, are both by Dan Brown. Just switched the encyclopedias to spell his initials on a hunch and voila!"

"Good for you," Madelyn sniffed. "I could have done _that. _Your big head was just in my way."

"Mmhmm," Richie said knowingly, starting down the steps.

"Wait!" Madelyn called desperately as she realized he was leaving her behind. "Wait for me! Richie Foley, stop right there! You better wait!"

Richie laughed and let Madelyn scurry clumsily after him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I had already written this and posted it at Static Shock Fan Page forum, but posts are only allowed to be so long, and I loathe breaking up the chapters. So, if anyone reads this fic at Static Shock Fan Page (link in my profile), know that it can sort of be classified as... the first draft. I've added and expanded the chapters that are posted here.

Don't forget to review, please.


	5. Chapter Five

Author's Note: Ack. Super long update-wait time. Very sorry. But this is the longest chapter yet, I think… and it has a nice semi-fight type thing… enjoy…

**Chapter Five**

To say that Virgil Hawkins was worried would undoubtedly be the understatement of the century. He was pacing back and forth in his living room in his pajamas, and little sparks of electricity would shoot off of him every now and then. There were currently two broken lightbulbs in this room alone. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his father's voice rang sharply into the charged silence of the room.

"For Heaven's sake, Virgil, calm down!"

"Pops!" Virgil said weakly. He stopped pacing and stood awkwardly in front of the couch. "I…"

"Virgil," Mr. Hawkins said in a comforting voice. "Richie is fine."

"What?" Virgil yelped. "Who said I was worried about Richie? Just because he wasn't in school all day today and it's past midnight and he hasn't gotten in touch with me since I saw him last, and that was when he was sick in bed and –"

"Virgil!" Mr. Hawkins said sharply, cutting him off. He put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Your friend is fine."

Virgil looked away.

"I'm just worried, that's all." He muttered. "Me and Rich are tight, you know that. We always stay in touch. Even that time I had the chicken pox and I was itchin' like mad he came over to make me feel better." He smiled faintly at the memory. "But he did catch it and boy was his mom mad…"

"Ah, I remember that," Mr. Hawkins chuckled fondly, thinking of his surrogate son. "Richie came back a few days later still covered in spots. Followed you around and kept sneezing and coughing on you, trying to get revenge and make you catch it back."

Virgil laughed.

"Yeah…"

"Son –" Mr. Hawkins was cut off as the doorbell rang twice in quick, impatient succession. Frowning, he put a hand out to stop Virgil from opening the door, and turned the knob himself.

It was cold outside, being fall, and a rush of crisp, chilly air blew in. To the surprise of both father and son, standing on the Hawkinses front porch was a frazzled Maggie Foley. Her hair was a little messy and she was looking haggard. Her clothing, normally perfectly pressed, was wrinkled, and her brown coat was thrown on carelessly, the buttons undone despite the weather.

"Uh, Mrs. Foley," Said Mr. Hawkins, still a bit dumbstruck. He shook himself, opening the door wider and gesturing for her to enter. "Please, come in."

She gave a half-smile and walked through the doorway, letting Mr. Hawkins help her with her coat as Virgil shut the front door. Mr. Hawkins realized that she was obviously upset, and gently led her into the living room. He was greatly surprised as he saw Gear's robot, Backpack, creakily crawl after her into the house.

"You… you have Backpack!" Virgil gasped. "How can you –"

"It wouldn't stay at the house," Mrs. Foley said in her soft voice, looking down at the machine in question. It blinked at them. "I told it to go back but it just crawled after me."

"Richie let you take it?"

"Not… not quite," She responded.

Mr. Hawkins stepped between them.

"Please, Mrs. Foley, have a seat," He said kindly. She sat awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, looking around. Backpack settled onto the carpet beside the chair, whirring.

Despite it being Richie's second home, Mrs. Foley had never been in the Hawkins residence more than once, and that visit had been brief. She'd had to come collect Richie personally after he'd run from the house after a particularly nasty shouting match with his father. Richie had only agreed to come with her because she had confessed that she was afraid, and he had decided that he would get over his anger to protect her if she needed it. She had protested, saying that she just needed him to come home, but was secretly grateful and proud of her son for standing up to his father and offering to protect her. She didn't truly believe that her husband would ever physically hurt her but… it was nice to know that Richie would take her side.

"Virgil, get Mrs. Foley something hot to drink," Mr. Hawkins was saying. He turned to Maggie. "Coffee? Hot cocoa? Tea?" He asked. He gave a small chuckle. "We've got it all."

"Coffee, please," Mrs. Foley said thankfully. "One milk, if you would."

"Coming right up!" Virgil said cheerfully, heading into the kitchen.

"So, Mrs. Foley –"

"Please," She interrupted, holding up a hand. "Call me Maggie."

"All right," Said Mr. Hawkins, looking pleased. "Then it's only fair that you call me Robert as well."

Maggie smiled.

"As I was saying…" Mr. Hawkins said. "What brings you to our home at this hour?"

"Yes, I'm sorry about that," Mrs. Foley said, twisting her hands in her lap nervously. "I just didn't know who else to call… and I didn't want to go to the police."

"Chef Virgil coming through with his world-famous brew!" Virgil called in a horrible French accent, his voice starting far and becoming clearer as he walked into the living room. He was cradling a large mug in his hands, careful not to spill it as he walked. He handed it to Mrs. Foley with a flourish, twirling around after he had placed it in her hands and striking a pose. "I call it… Chef Virgil's Midnight Coffee!"

Mrs. Foley laughed softly and took the mug, wrapping her hands around it and letting it warm them up.

"You didn't want to call the police?" Mr. Hawkins asked warily. "What's this all about, Maggie?"

The redhead bit her lip and shook her head in a way that Virgil found extremely reminiscent of Richie.

"You see… Richie is missing." She said with a heavy sigh. Virgil didn't even bother to hold back his horrified gasp and Mr. Hawkins looked apprehensive.

"But why wouldn't you want to report that to the police?" He asked. "They could surely be more help than I."

"No, it's just that, well," She hesitated, took a sip from her mug, and then seemed to give up whatever internal battle she was having. She leaned forward and whispered, "I don't want them to find out about him being Gear."

"What!" Virgil squeaked. "You know that Richie's Gear!"

"Of course I know," Mrs. Foley scoffed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm his mother. And I know that you're Static."

"Did… did he tell you?" Virgil asked squeakily. He was standing behind the couch above his father (who wanted to hear the answer as much as he did), gripping the fabric tightly.

"No," Mrs. Foley said in a sad voice, staring down into the swirling brown of her coffee. "I guess… I guess he doesn't trust me that much. I could tell he was Gear the second I saw the first news broadcast. It's a mother's instinct. And of course, who would Richie be superhero partners with other than his best friend? But I won't tell your secret, don't worry, Virgil," She added hastily. "I've kept Richie's and I've no intention of letting go of yours."

Mr. Hawkins was watching her intently. There was a sudden, tense silence in which Mrs. Foley shifted self-consciously in her seat and drank large gulps of coffee, more out of a need to do something than actual thirst.

"Maggie," Mr. Hawkins said finally in his soothing baritone. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

The woman sighed and set her mug down on the coffee table. It clinked against the surface.

"Well," She said. "It started a few weeks ago."

"A few weeks ago?" Virgil said. "That's around the time the second Bang happened!"

"You two were there?" Mrs. Foley said in alarm. "At the docks, when that cargo ship exploded? That was all over the news!"

Virgil flushed.

"Um, sorry," Virgil mumbled, avoiding her question. "Keep going, please."

"Well, Richie had a big fight with his father, but that's not really anything unusual." She flushed at that, embarressed, but Mr. Hawkins motioned for her to continue. The strained relationship of the Foley men wasn't a secret. She cleared her throat.

"Richie seemed a little ill, but assured me it was nothing. He kept staring off into space, daydreaming or thinking or something. More than usual, that is. But every day he was just paler and he looked sicker, and naturally I was worried. He kept telling me it was nothing, that it would go away, but the day before yesterday I put my foot down and made him stay home from school.

"Virgil came to visit him, and that seemed to lift his spirits a little. He'd been feeling so bad lately and I didn't know what to do to help him get better.

"I woke up in the middle of the night because of his little robot… what's its name… Backpack? Backpack came into the master bedroom beeping and clicking and all that, so I got up to check on Richie. Sean was gone, at work."

"And…?" Virgil prompted, leaning forward.

"And my son was gone," She said miserably. "The balcony doors were opened but he wasn't outside. I got dressed and went out to look for him, but he wasn't anywhere.

"The school called later. They told me he wasn't in school, and I told them he was still home, sick. I was afraid… my son is a Bang Baby, Mr. Hawkins – excuse me, Robert – and you know what people think of them. I was afraid of what would happen should anyone… I don't know, find out or something?

"Now that I really think about it, I'm sure my fears are completely unfounded," Mrs. Foley said. She laughed a bit hysterically. "It's not like he's got tentacles, right?"

"Calm down, Maggie," Mr. Hawkins said gently. "It's fine. It was natural for you to be worried about him, but I really wish you'd gone to the police or someone sooner. We might've had a better chance of finding him if you had."

"He can be found though, right?" She said, biting her lip again.

"Of course," Mr. Hawkins answered. "We'll help you however we can."

"I'm afraid that he might've been kidnapped," She said.

"Because of Static…" Virgil whispered, sinking down onto the couch. "It's my fault."

"No, no, son, stop blaming yourself," Mr. Hawkins said, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "If Richie was indeed kidnapped, you feeling guilty won't get him back any sooner. Do you know of anyone who would want Richie?"

"I'm not sure," Virgil said. "I mean, we've got enemies in Dakota, yeah, but they don't know Static and Gear's identities. I guess… I guess there's a few people who knew about Richie's powers, but none of them really have motive."

Mrs. Foley sighed and Backpack settled next to her like a reassuring dog, letting out little clicks and whirring noises.

"Maybe he ran away," Virgil said desperately. "He's done that before."

"And look where it got him," Mrs. Foley said. "He's too intelligent not to understand that he could get captured just as easily again. Being a genius doesn't mean he can defend himself physically against the criminal Bang Babies."

"Maggie, emotions have often been known to overrule rationality," Mr. Hawkins said soothingly. "Virgil makes a good point. Has anything happened at home that could trigger something like this?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Foley said, clearly trying not to lapse into maternal panic. "Sean is home more often now. Richie's been feeling under the weather for a few weeks now, but why, I couldn't tell you. It was pretty mild; I thought it was just a bug. It is autumn, after all."

"So, nothing?" Virgil asked. He was perched on the arm of the couch.

"Well, he got into a fight with his father last week, but that's common." Her cheeks colored a bit at this admission. "Actually, Sean seemed to be in a better mood than usual, despite the fight. Home for dinner more often. He even has been cooking for us. I know Sean loves Richie. He wouldn't ever intentionally hurt him, mentally or otherwise, and he surely doesn't like the yelling arguments those two have… I suppose he's just been having a good streak at work.

"Maybe we should just put out a search for him," Mrs. Foley suggested.

"He could be anywhere," Virgil said. "It would take ages."

"And if Richie doesn't want to be found, I don't think we'd be able to find him," Mr. Hawkins added.

"But… but Bang Babies could find him," Mrs. Foley said suddenly.

"Mrs. F," Virgil exclaimed, taken aback. "You don't want us to tell Ebon and Hotstreak and all them who Gear really is, do you!"

"Of course not," Mrs. Foley said, shaking her head. "Put out a reward for the return of Gear."

"What if he's not in costume?" Mr. Hawkins pointed out.

"Oh, I don't know! I don't know what else to do," Mrs. Foley sighed. Mr. Hawkins laid a comforting hand over hers.

"It's fine, Maggie. When morning comes, if Richie isn't back it may be a good idea to go to the police."

* * *

"Ouch!" Frieda hissed, pulling her hand up sharply. She'd braced her weight on a large rock, but unfortunately for Frieda it was covered in prickly moss. She held her hand up in front of her face and in the darkness could see pinpricks of blood on the heel of her palm.

"You okay?" Shelly whispered, leaning over to look at Frieda's hand. "If it's bad we can go –"

"No, I'm fine," Frieda insisted, jerking her hand away. "Let's keep going."

"There's nowhere to go," Shelly answered in a hushed voice. "We've got to wait until those guards move." She pushed aside some leaves and pointed across the lawn where two men in uniform were standing.

It was nearing midnight and the two were crouched down in the bushes on the outskirts of the company property. Before them stretched a long yard of perfectly manicured grass that led to a chain link fence. There was a small square building that seemed to be the guard's station, and behind the fence was an average looking government building. The shorter guard was pacing, his nightstick in his hand. When he turned around Frieda could see a gun holster on his belt.

"Okay, here's the deal," Shelly whispered. She dug into the ground with her fingernails and pried up a sizable rock. "I'll throw this over to the right near those big trees, and that'll distract them. If we move quickly we can get nearer to the fence."

"Gotcha," Frieda said, tensing. Shelly hefted the stone and on Frieda's "Now!", she hurled it with all her might across the lawn. It hit the trunk of a tree with a hard crack, causing an avalanche of leaves and a wayward squirrel.

"Hey!" Called one of the guards, pointing toward the disturbance. Their attention was focused on the spot.

"Move!" Shelly breathed. The duo sped through the foliage, crouching and breathing heavily right near the fence. Frieda grinned at Shelly, who returned it. Shelly patted her pockets to check that she hadn't dropped her recorder and shifted the small black bag on her shoulder.

"I am so glad that I changed," Frieda said feverently, plucking some leaves off of her shirt, and shaking her ponytail lightly. They'd both exchanged their work outfits for all black ensembles truly fitting for burglars – or a pair of trespassing reporters.

The guards seemed to have stopped searching, but were looking around warily. Shelly flicked a leaf at the fence and grimaced as it sizzled into crispy ash.

"Okay," She said firmly. "No fence-hopping. Got it."

"Let's beat them over the head with their own nightsticks!" Frieda suggested, only half joking. One of the guards had gone back to pacing and came closer to their hideout in the bushes on each turn.

"Um," Shelly said. "That might work." She looked at Frieda, who offered a nervous smile. "When he's a foot away, we'll jump out, pull him into the bushes and get him with this," She held up a small bottle of clear liquid and a thick square of white cloth.

"Shelly," Frieda asked disbelievingly. "Is that _chloroform_?"

"Yes," The older woman said defensively. When Frieda still looked shocked, she shrugged. "This stuff comes in useful from time to time. Self-defense and all that. It's just like carrying pepper spray or mace."

"I bet you have that too, huh?" Frieda said dryly, eyeing the black rucksack suspiciously. Shelly was busy dabbing some of the liquid onto the cloth, making sure not to inhale any and tightly closing the chloroform container.

"Uh," Shelly said, looking sheepish.

"Get down!" Frieda hissed suddenly, pushing on Shelly's shoulder. The two pressed their stomachs against the ground, and looking up, saw the shadowy figure of the guard hovering above them. Shelly leapt up, grabbing the guard from behind, and Frieda rammed his own nightstick into his stomach to prevent him from grabbing his gun. Shelly pressed the cloth over his mouth and nose, and after a moment of muffled struggling, the guard was out cold. Frieda grunted, helping lift the man and shoving him into the bushes.

"Tom?" Called a male voice. "Tom? You're not taking a piss in the bushes again, are you?" The voice was coming closer. Shelly grabbed Frieda and the two squeezed behind a thick tree, hiding themselves from view and trying to calm their breathing. "Tom?"

The man was close now, and he was peering into the woods with a frown on his face. His flashlight was a bright spotlight on the greenery, and it swished around quickly.

"Tom? Seriously. We _do _have a bathroom."

Frieda was leaning backwards as far as she could to hide herself from view, but in doing so she slipped on a rock, landing hard on her bottom. She bit her lip and held back a cry of pain, but it was too late. She was spotted. She squinted against the bright light suddenly pointed at her.

"Hey!" The guard said sharply. "Who are you!"

But he didn't get farther than that. The hand that was reaching for his belt suddenly fell limp following some muffled complaints, and he fell in a heap in the ground, revealing a familiar Hispanic woman behind him.

"Shelly!" Frieda breathed in relief.

"Let's go!" Shelly said, helping Frieda up and adjusting her rucksack again. With hurried strides and backward glances, they soon found the back entrance; a sturdy metal door that looked entirely too secure for their tastes. Frieda stamped her foot, discouraged, but Shelly tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to a less obvious door to their right, just around the corner of the building.

After much pulling and yanking and heaving, and finally Shelly picking the lock with what seemed like seasoned expertise (Frieda gave her an admiring look), the door finally gave way. They slipped inside, shutting the door behind them. There was barely enough free space for the two of them to stand. When Shelly pulled on a chain to turn on the swinging light bulb, Frieda gave a disappointed groan. It was nothing but a supply closet.

It was full of cleaning supplies and gave off a mixture of the heavy scent of dirty pine fresh disinfectant. There were two cleaning carts stationed to the side of the room and loaded down with buckets, disposable gloves and aprons, toilet brushes and refill Kleenex boxes. Whoever the caretaker was for this building was supremely well stocked… though it seemed that he had rarely stepped foot inside.

"This is so not worth it," Frieda said unhappily, leaning on a dirty mop handle. Shelly didn't answer. She was busy moving things around, shuffling buckets and old brooms. It brought up a small cloud of dust and Frieda coughed.

"What are you doing? We should be leaving. This is a dead end, Shelly."

"Ah ha!" Shelly exclaimed triumphantly. She'd moved a tarnished shovel and found a rack that held various tools; old screwdrivers, hammers, rusty nails and pliers were just a few among the assortment. Frieda squinted at where they hung on a piece of termite-eaten plywood with holes drilled in for the hooks.

"What are you 'ah ha'-ing?" She asked curiously.

"You'll see," Shelly said, and started pulling on every tool in front of her, taking it out of its place only to put it back with a frown. Finally, she pressed down on both a hammer and a box of nails simultaneously, and with a loud creak, the wall pulled away to reveal a long passage that was dimly lit with glaring florescent lighting.

"Should we go?" Frieda whispered, glancing back at Shelly to see if it was okay.

"Chica, do you really have to ask?" Shelly grinned. She hesitated for a second, and then grabbed one of the cleaning carts. She pulled off her black hat and plucked Frieda's own off her head ("Hey!") and shook out her hair. She pulled on the disposable gloves and hastily donned an apron, shoving the same attire into the girl's hands.

"Put these on," Shelly instructed. "All the better to blend in."

"Oooh, we're breaking so many laws!" Frieda said giddily. Shelly gave a quiet laugh.

"Isn't it great?" She said, and then suddenly seemed to remember that Frieda was only a teenager. "But you should never, ever do this again. Ever."

* * *

"Wow," Richie said in wonder. He ran his fingers along the tops of one of the computers. He and Madelyn had gone down the stairs and followed a maze of pathways and had come upon a huge underground cavern. Richie had a fleeting bit of nostalgia for Batman's cave, but this was far from it. The only similarities (besides the cave part) was the fact that it was brimming with cutting-edge technology. There were rows of computers and technology all used for research purposes. There were examination tables, and along almost an entire wall of the cavern was limitless shelving full of bottles and vials. Each one was full of liquid, many clear, many different colors. There were labels on them all detailing the contents, and occasionally a small note was taped to the glass with side notes about the potion. There was a plethora of glass microscope slides, tongs, microscopes, scales, gloves, sanitary masks; everything needed for chemical and biological research was available. There was what seemed like a library of notebooks and tomes full of conclusive findings and reference materials.  
Richie was practically itching with a desire to touch and examine every single thing. Oh, the things he could try with all this at his fingertips, the theories he could test…

"If you're done drooling…" Madelyn's voice cut into his dreaming. He shot an irritated look over his shoulder.

"Just because you can't appreciate a scientific goldmine doesn't mean you've got to be snotty," Richie said.

Madelyn leaned against one of the stainless steel tables casually, craning her neck and looking around at her surroundings.

"I appreciate it," She disagreed easily. She tucked some of her hair behind her ear, and as Richie watched the movement he suddenly remembered that she had lost her hair clip. "I just don't have your hunger for it."

"That much is obvious," Richie responded, a little harsher than he had intended. He gently tapped against a computer monitor, eager to turn it on… but with a system this elaborate, though it would be easy enough for him to crack, it might alert a different server before he could find and disable the mechanism that did so. And to risk alerting whoever owned this lab and had captured him and Madelyn wasn't worth a few minutes on such a magnificent piece of machinery as this.

"So what do we do now?" Madelyn asked, feeling a wave of déjà vu.

"Dunno," Richie admitted. "Find a way to escape?"

"That's –" But Madelyn stopped suddenly as the sound of loud voices talking was brought to their ears. She jumped off the table, biting her lip to hold back a hiss of pain as her ankle absorbed some of the shock. Richie joined her, and they crouched down apprehensively, listening. The sound of footsteps grew louder, and then a loud voice said very seriously,

"Search the room. Don't leave a thing unturned."

Richie tensed, his eyes widening. The voice sounded vaguely familiar…. He caught Madelyn's eye, and one look signified that she too had recognized the voice.

"The man with the gravelly voice," Madelyn breathed into Richie's ear. Her breath tickled his ear and he scrunched up his nose. His glasses slid a little bit.

"I hope the other guy isn't with him," Richie whispered back, pushing his glasses up his nose. "And we're dead if they brought reinforcements."

"Why is it I fear that you're not joking?"

"And if we find them, sir?" It wasn't Stocky Man, but a different one. Richie crouched down lower until he was almost flat on the floor. All he could see was their boots. Unfortunately, "they" were now four in number when not counting Gravelly Voice, from what Richie could see. The man who had just spoken had dirt caked on his boots, so Richie dubbed him "Muddy Boots" in his mind.

"If they come peacefully, knock 'em out and sedate them as precaution. If they don't, if they put up too big of a fight, we have permission to bring them in by force. If they escape us completely, kill them. If we can't get them they aren't getting away."

Richie grimaced.

The men started to move and Richie was still trying to figure out if he and Madelyn should try to move or just stay put and hope that their table wasn't searched soon. Madelyn tapped his shoulder and was about to say something when,

"Hey, you there!"

Richie almost had a heart attack, and it was only when Madelyn poked his shoulder twice very hard that he realized it wasn't they who were being addressed. Madelyn seemed to decide that whatever she had to say could wait until later, and lay down on the cold floor beside him, peering underneath all the tables at the assortment of footwear. There was the addition of what looked like the legs of a cleaning cart, and two more pairs of shoes.

"What are you doing here?"

"Cleaning, sir," Said the voice of a woman, as though it were obvious.

"Who gave you access to this facility?" Gravelly Voice demanded.

"We, well –" A new female voice started nervously. She sounded young. The first cleaning lady cut her off.

"We're new here, sir, –" "Yeah, new!" "–And were just making the rounds when we just stumbled on this room… It does look as though it needs a good dusting."

"All the custodial staff is given a thorough briefing of the areas they are hired to sanitize. What did you think you were doing, straying from your assigned section of maintenance?"

"We, sir, we – we missed the first half of the briefing, you see, and –"

Suddenly yells and shouts erupted out of nowhere and the shoes were all over the place. The cleaning cart was overturned with a loud clatter and the younger cleaning lady screamed. A bucket toppled over, splashing the ground with sudsy cleaning water, and cans of disinfectant spray and other cleaning supplies rolled across the floor. Madelyn caught a can of Raid that rolled toward her and mouthed to Richie, "Get one," which he did, as a bottle of Clorox rolled forward and hit him square in the face. With a muffled curse and a glare at Madelyn (who was not looking at him to avoid laughter that would give their position away), he grabbed the jug.

Raising his upper body off the floor, Richie stuck his head up just enough to view the chaos before him that was the lab. The two supposed cleaning ladies were trying to fend off the four men. The one with short dark hair had somehow gotten hold of what appeared to be mace and one of the men was already clutching his eyes and howling. The smaller janitor was beatinganother man over the head with a sudsy mop before giving up and grabbing a can of Lysol and spraying it right in his face. He scrambled backwards, slipped on the sudsy water. The other woman skidded over and pressed a white cloth over the downed guard's face. He stopped struggling, unconscious.

Gravelly Voice was off to the side, reaching for a box on the wall. He opened it up and a panel of numbers appeared.

"We can't let him enable security!" Richie shouted, jumping up and charging forward with his jug of Clorox in hand. He skirted past one of the two guards whose eyes were still unsprayed and came up behind Gravelly Voice. Pulling his arm back as far as he could, he bashed Gravelly Voice in the back of the head with the jug. Gravelly Voice didn't even have time to react; he was sent flying forward into the wall and connected with the hard surface with a sickening thud, the code uncompleted. He fell backwards, his nose probably broken. It was bleeding, at the very least. Richie dropped the Clorox.

"Uh," Richie said stupidly. "So I could have held back a little."

There was a noise behind him and Richie spun around only to find himself nose to nose with the barrel of a gun. For the second time that day. Richie almost groaned.

"One move, kid," The man warned. A quick glance down confirmed that it was Muddy Boots.

"No moving on this side," Richie yelped, holding his hands up in surrender. "Nooo moving. None at all."

Muddy Bootslooked as though he was about to say something, but there was a thud and his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped his gun and for the _second time that day _a body was falling forward onto Richie. Richie pushed the unconscious man off him with a grunt and stood, rubbing his bottom. He squinted at his rescuer.

Madelyn was smirking at him, his own cleaning weapon of choice in her hands.

"We're not going to make a habit of this, are we?" The blonde asked wearily.

"I hope not," She responded, setting down the Clorox. "This saving Richie Foley stuff is getting old. That's why I'd rather be a politician. People in positions of power have other people to do the manual labor."

"Like you'd hire someone to protect me," Richie grumbled.

"It would be a waste of resources," Madelyn agreed.

"Richie!"

Madelyn and Richie both turned and Richie's jaw dropped. Frieda was staring at him disbelievingly.

"What – Frieda!"

Frieda ran forward in a flash of red hair and was hugging him fiercely. Caught off guard, Richie didn't return the embrace for a moment, but then hugged her back genuinely. She pulled away and held him out at arms length.

"Where the _hell _have you been?" She demanded sternly.

"Apparently, right here," Madelyn sniped, folding her arms across her chest from where she stood a little ways behind Richie. Frieda frowned at her.

"Madelyn? Oh my gosh - Madelyn Spaulding?"

"The one and only," Madelyn said sarcastically.

"Wow," Frieda said. She looked Madelyn up and down and then turned back to Richie. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Richie said dryly.

"I love this great little class reunion thing you have going on here, Frieda," the other "cleaning lady" interrupted. "But we really have to go."

"But – the article – Shelly!"

"Look, chica, it's not worth getting you in legal trouble for. Let's go." She nudged one of the guards with the toe of her boot and he moaned in response, curling into a fetal position on his side; they had effectively taken out a set of five (in all fairness, four who actually had a chance to fight back) well-trained guards. Shelly felt a swelling sense of giddy accomplishment. She and Frieda had taken out three of them, the olive-skinned girl had taken out the fourth, and the blonde kid had done an admirably brutal job on the leader.

"My name is Richie Foley," Richie said to Shelly.

"Richie Foley?" Shelly asked in surprise, thinking back on her conversation with Frieda over his potential guiltiness.

"Uh, yeah," He said. "You have to show us the way out."

"And fast," Madelyn added, looking over her shoulder at the way theguards had entered the lab.

"Why were you here in the first place?" Shelly asked suspiciously.

"Look," Richie answered. "It – it doesn't matter right now. We just have to get out before any other security comes."

"Shelly," Frieda said from where she stood by Richie's side. "We can't leave without them."

"All right," Shelly said with a sigh. She stepped past the overturned cleaning cart. "Let's be quick about it. Follow me…"

**Author's Note: **How was it? Next chapter will hopefully be sooner but I can't make any promises. High school and all that, my friends. Civics and Algebra are kicking my ass. Civics for the sheer amount of work, and Algebra for the sheer amount of freaking confusingness.

**Review please!**


	6. Chapter Six

**Review Responses: **Because it's now possible to reply to each review separately, I'll be doing that from now on unless the review reply will answer a question very relevant to the story. Thank you for understanding!

**Author's Note: **Eek. Um. New chapter, anyone?

**Chapter Six**

Shelly Sandoval inched the heavy metal door open, peering cautiously outside. A couple stars blinked in the black sky, but clouds covered most of the moon. There was no one in sight. She breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Go! Go, go, go!" Shelly hissed, prodding Richie in the back. The two of them, plus Frieda and Madelyn, were crammed into the tiny supply closet with the secret entrance. The boy didn't need telling twice, and quickly shimmied through the crack in the door and sprinted across the yard, feeling very exposed. Frieda sped out shortly after him, followed by Shelly moving just as fast for a woman of almost thirty, and finally Madelyn bringing up the rear in a painful jog.

Richie paused near the gate and waited anxiously for Shelly to catch up, and when she did, she moved forward and fiddled with the jammed gate lock for much longer than she had estimated it would take before it finally gave way. They shut it quietly behind them and followed Shelly to her car, piling in as the reporter scrambled to put the key in the ignition.

"Buckle up for safety, kids," She quipped, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She shifted the car gear into reverse and stomped on the gas, sending them careening out of the parking space backwards and then to a sudden stop with the brakes. Then it was a nearly violent shift into drive and a miniature dust cloud to salute their exit as they raced out of the lot.

"Look," Shelly said as they turned onto the highway. "I don't know what you two were doing in that place but you look worse for the wear."

"Uh," Richie started. He looked at Madelyn, who shrugged. The clock on the dashboard said 1:00 AM in glowing green. "I want to thank you for saving us, ma'am."

"Shelly Sandoval," Shelly corrected.

"Right," Richie said sheepishly. "Miss Sandoval. Do you think we could, uh, crash at your place or something? Just for a night."

"At my place?" Shelly repeated. She glanced over her shoulder at the two teenagers in baggy medical overcoats, complete with pink-stained clothes underneath.

Richie shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

"We can't exactly go home right now, I don't think. And it's late."

"It_ is _late, Miss Sandoval," Frieda agreed from the front seat. Shelly looked torn.

"I don't know…" She said.

"Besides," Frieda added. "My mom thinks I'm spending the night with Daisy. She won't miss me."

"Okay," Shelly relented, tapping the steering wheel. "Just for the night. Then you're going home to your families. You too, Frieda," She added when Frieda opened her mouth to protest.

The rest of the ride was silence brought on tiredness, and Richie was jerked from his daze when the car slid smoothly into a parking space outside an apartment complex. Shelly got out first and led them up three flights to her home, ushering them in.

"Home sweet home," She sighed, visibly relaxing. The teenagers looked around.

The apartment was small, but homey. There was a subdued aroma of what smelled like something spicy, possibly Hispanic food. The spicy smell was mild and lingering, as if it was cooked often and the scents had sifted into the air permanently. The entrance foyer spilt immediately into the kitchen on the left. There were minimal furnishings, two bedrooms with a bathroom each, and a small kitchen, but all clean and perfect for a busy single woman. There were two couches, both flanked by side tables, and a white refrigerator was covered in pictures and newspaper clippings held on by magnets. Madelyn pulled something metal from her coat pocket and set it down on the kitchen counter with a clink.

Shelly stared.

"Excuse me?" She said in disbelief. Richie winced. "Is that a gun?"

"Yes," Madelyn responded rationally. "We might need it later."

"Hold on just a minute, um – "

"Madelyn Spaulding," Madelyn supplied.

"Well, Madelyn, there'll be absolutely no need for a gun in my house. We're getting rid of it as soon as possible!"

"Uh, Miss Sandoval…" Richie interjected. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh, really?" Shelly declared, hands on her hips. "And who are you to say what is and is not a good idea in my home?"

Richie cleared his throat. "Just… we'll leave it there for the time being. It'll be okay just sitting there, right?"

"Well…" Shelly started, then sighed. "For an adult, I'm such a pushover. Ugh. Well, you kids need to sleep and we'll figure all this out in the morning. There are two twin beds in the guest room; you girls can crash on that, and Richie, I'll pull out the sleeper sofa for you."

20 minutes later, the lights were off in the strange apartment, and Richie could hear Frieda and Madelyn quietly talking through the guest bedroom door. Miss Sandoval's door was shut, and he had the suspicion that it was locked. The gun was gone from the counter, probably in one of the rooms or with Miss Sandoval just in case. He was in the middle of a thought when sleep overcame him, and, his head resting on a brown throw pillow, he slept.

* * *

Richie woke up to the strong smell of coffee. He rolled over onto his side and then stretched, groaning a little as his back cracked.

"Well, well, well," Said a familiar voice, sounding cheerful. Richie groaned again. It was much too early to be cheerful. "Looks like sleeping beauty is waking up at last."

"Mom, s'too early," He mumbled. "Gehway."

"Is that any way to talk to your mother?" The voice asked, sounding amused. Richie heard a giggle in the background.

_Wait…_ Richie thought, and suddenly everything clicked into place and he sat straight up, his eyes flying open. He was lying on a couch, a very unfamiliar couch, and he didn't know where he was. Everything around him was fuzzy and he breathed hard, feeling around for his glasses. The events of the previous night came rushing back to Richie as things clicked into place: He and Madelyn running through the whitewashed maze; finding the lab and what it implied; running into Miss Sandoval and Frieda; how they had backtracked hurriedly, tripping in the dark and finally piling into Miss Sandoval's car, and somehow speeding away from the gunshots, the bodies, the blood, the consequences….

"Richie, calm down," Said the voice that had been teasing him. "It's me, Frieda."

Richie squinted up at the auburn blob above him and started in surprise when someone else tapped his shoulder and handed him his glasses. He gratefully slid them on and everything came into focus.

He was on a soft couch in the living room of a small apartment. He looked up behind him at the person who had given him his glasses. It was Miss Sandoval, and she had a cup of steaming coffee in her hand for him as well. Richie rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grasped the hand Frieda extended to him as leverage to hoist himself up. He gratefully accepted the coffee.

"Sorry," He mumbled as he took a few gulps and set the mug down.

"Don't worry about it," Shelly placated, almost motherly. "Have a bagel when you're ready, they're on the counter. It's already ten o'clock, and I'm sure all your parents are expecting you all and will be glad once you're home."

Richie looked over at Frieda and Madelyn, who were sitting on opposite ends of the opposite couch. Frieda had her legs tucked under her and was nursing a half-empty cup of coffee. Madelyn's legs were stretched out on the coffee table, her left pant leg rolled up to show her ankle covered in a blue icepack. Condensation dripped off of it onto the wood of the table.

"How's your ankle feeling, Madelyn?" Richie asked. She looked pleased that he'd bothered to ask.

"It still hurts, but the swelling is going down. Finally."

"You should have had that taken care of right away," Shelly patronized. "It would just have gotten worse."

"We, uh, didn't really have time to stop and brace it or anything," Richie said.

"That's pretty true," Madelyn agreed.

It was only by reflex that Richie caught the wad of clothing that Shelly tossed to him. In true Richie fashion, he clumsily grabbed at it, dropping a shirt from the bundle. He ignored Madelyn's snicker and looked questioningly at the woman.

"The girls have already showered," She explained, and Richie noticed that Frieda and Madelyn were indeed dressed in clean clothes. Frieda's hair was pulled up in a ponytail and was still wet. Both had warmer clothes, and somehow Madelyn had gotten a purple shirt out of the deal. "If you'd like a shower too, now's the time to do it. My nephew's about your size and those are clothes he keeps in the guest bedroom. You can use the guest bathroom."

Richie didn't complain, but nodded his thanks and let Shelly show him the way to the bathroom. He was drained emotionally, physically, and mentally, and the shower would help him clear his head.

"Thank you, ma'am, really." He said thankfully.

"Well, you look like you need it," She said. "And it's okay to call me Shelly, if you'd like. 'Ma'am' and 'Miss Sandoval' makes me feel either old or like I need to be married."

Frieda giggled.

Richie had meant to shower quickly, but after stepping under the hot spray he felt the tense muscles in his shoulders relaxing. Richie scrubbed his skin until it was bright pink. When he finally hopped out, toweled dried, and pulled on Shelly's nephew's spare clothes, Richie felt much refreshed. He was thankful for the warmer clothes , despite the fact that they were about a size too large; long sleeves and blue jeans would definitely do him more good in the autumn weather than inside-out hospital scrubs. All in all, Richie was just happy nonetheless for something that didn't have residual blood on it, and had no qualms in throwing away his old pajamas. He rubbed the towel over his wet hair to dry it, unknowingly making it spikier. He heard the muffled sound of the three women talking in the living room.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel a headache building and hoped it wouldn't be as bad as the last.

There was a calendar on the wall, opened to a scene with two cuddly Labrador puppies playing in orange and brown leaves with **November **written boldly in orange calligraphy along the bottom of the page. Richie pressed his finger along the squares of dates. He had skipped out early on patrol on the 20th and Virgil had visited him on the 21st, after he had ditched school due to his migraines and foggy thinking. According to the slashes that marked through completed days it was the 23rd. He almost smiled. It really wasn't as long as he'd thought, but still, he knew his friends and family would be worried.

Richie poked his head outside the guest bedroom, looking down the small hallway. The door to Shelly's bedroom was closed, but the three women were all still in the kitchen. With a quickness that would have made Flash proud, Richie darted from the guest bedroom to the master. He eased the door open cautiously, and when no squeak followed, he glanced behind him once more and then entered.

Shelly's bedroom was neat and had a color pallet of blues, which didn't surprise Richie. Feeling some guilt, he hurried over to the dresser and pulled open all the drawers, surreptitiously scooting the contents around inside. He repeated the process with the bedside table, and swore softly. Still unable to find what he was looking for, he flattened himself on the floor and peered underneath the bed, stretching his arm out and feeling around until his fingers grasped cool metal.

"Ha!" He mumbled victoriously under his breath. He pulled it out and weighed the weapon in his hands, before checking the safety and plunking it into his jeans pocket. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, he slipped out of Shelly's bedroom and closed the door tightly, just as she'd left it. He walked casually past the women and into the kitchen. The coat rack was, fortunately, in a blind spot from the living room, and Richie made what was, he thought proudly, a pretty much seamless drop of the gun into his coat pocket. Without missing a beat he helped himself to a bagel and interrupted Frieda with a polite request for another cup of coffee.

"Sure," Shelly said over the couch, oblivious to Richie's maneuver. "The pot's right next to the stove and the mugs are in the left cabinet."

"Could you get me one, too?" Madelyn called. Richie grumbled but got out another mug.

"So, what are we doing today, Shelly?" Frieda continued eagerly.

"What are _we _doing, chica?" Shelly repeated sardonically. "_We_ are driving you kids home where you belong."

"But our investigation isn't over," Frieda argued. "And finding Richie and Madelyn has to amount for something."

"Whatever it amounts to isn't our business, anyway." Shelly said resolutely. Richie handed Madelyn her coffee and gave her a look that read quite plainly, "Don't say anything," and she surprisingly complied.

"I have no idea what came over me." Shelly was saying. "Allowing a minor to trespass with me. Ugh! What would my supervisor think?"

"That you've got the story of the century, _that's _what!" Frieda grinned. Richie took a large bite of bagel to prevent himself from interjecting.

"Oh, Frieda, honey," Shelly said, sounding sympathetic now. "I know you're on a journalistic tear, but things like this aren't for seventeen year olds to get into. It's past regular snooping now, I feel it, it'll get dangerous." She sighed, a signal that the discussion was over. She was pulling on a thick blue jacket. "Grab your things. Off we go."

Richie pulled on his stolen coat and donned his hat, handing Madelyn her own pair.

"All right," Shelly stated firmly, keys in hand. "Who's first?"

* * *

"I thought we were heading straight for my house." Richie said, leaning forward from where he was sitting in the back seat with Madelyn. Shelly had turned into a gas station/convenience store.

"Well, I need gas to get there," Shelly pointed out. "I really burned fuel when we left last night."

"Understandable," Richie said.

"I'm thirsty," Madelyn complained in a loud voice. Richie shot her a disbelieving look.

"Didn't you just eat?"

"Yes," Madelyn said defensively. "But eating isn't the same thing as drinking."

"You had _coffee_."

"At least my breath doesn't still smell like it."

"Frieda, can you run in a pay for me?" Shelly asked, leaning in through the open window. Frieda nodded and unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbing the purse Shelly handed to her. "And you two. I don't know a lot about either of you, especially you, Madelyn, but if you don't like each other, keep it out of my car, please."

Richie and Madelyn both crossed their arms and looked out their respective windows. Richie pressed his hand to his forehead to keep his headache at bay.

A few minutes later, Frieda came bopping out of the Kwik-Mart, carrying the purse, a receipt, and a bottle of water. She ran around the passenger side and climbed into the seat as Shelly sat behind the wheel again. She handed two out of the three things in her arms to Shelly.

"Sorry," She said sheepishly, twisting open the bottle's cap. "But it was a sale and the water was only $1.50."

Shelly shook her head and looked at the receipt unhappily.

"Gas prices," She said in disgust, starting the car into drive.

"The inside of that place was fully of security stuff," Frieda gushed. "Security cameras everywhere, and the monitors were panning on the cars too. I could see your hair right through the rear view window, Richie," Frieda added offhand to the blonde, who snatched his hat and pulled it snugly down over his hair.

"Where to, Richie?" Shelly asked. Richie leaned forward between Frieda and Shelly.

"Turn left riiiight… there. Yeah. That's the turn. Park in the back, please."

Shelly made a quick left into the abandoned parking lot of an equally abandoned gas station, parking beside a faded handicapped spot. She shut off the engine and the four people inside the car were silent for a moment.

"Richie Foley, what the hell are we doing here?"

Shelly looked disapproving of Madelyn's language, but unbuckled her seat belt and twisted around, looking expectantly at the Richie for an answer. He was behind the passenger's seat and was looking eager to get out of the vehicle.

"C'mon," He said, opening the door and stretching as he got out. "I just have to check on something." The three women followed him into the gas station. He walked through as if he was there all the time, and once they got into the shabby old office, they realized the gas station was anything but abandoned. There was advanced technology everywhere, and Richie quickly worked his way through it to a supped-up computer.

"What's this, Richie?" Frieda asked, extremely curious. "I didn't know you hung out here."

"Ah, well," Richie said evasively. "It's uh, you know, just a place to go every once in a while."

"Seems like more than every once in a while," Shelly said, sounding skeptic. She opened the small fridge that was against the wall. "Sodas? Cold? Seems like someone's here quite a bit. Enough to bother with an electricity bill, at least."

"Hey, what's this?" Madelyn said loudly, reaching for a zap cap. Richie jumped up and slapped her hand away.

"Don't," He almost yelled, and then adjusted his tone to a less defensive one. "…touch."

"Well sorr-ee, Mr. Cranky," Madelyn said, holding her hands up.

"What is it you're looking for, Richie?" Shelly asked. "Maybe we can help."

"I don't think –" Richie started, when there was a sound at the door. He froze.

"Quick!" He hissed. "Hide!"

Frieda turned quickly, hiding in the back office behind the desk, and Shelly, flustered, cursed something in Spanish and ducked behind the old couch. Madelyn made a dash for the space in the corner between a desk and a pile of old inventions and metal, butthere wasno room. The door was opening, and Madelyn was still in plain sight. Richie scooted over, and she dashed in and closed the door all but a crack. Richie sighed in relief… but then the intruder came in.

Except it wasn't an intruder. It was Static.

"Oh, no…" Richie moaned under his breath, fighting the urge to bury his head in his hands. He pushed Madelyn over so he could have a clearer view and she made a little noise of indignation. There was no way to cover up anything now.

Static, dressed fully in costume, stalked in looking depressed. He was followed by the sound of mechanical limbs moving – Backpack. Richie prayed that neither would notice him, but knew that it was pretty much a guarantee that Backpack would.

Static flung himself down on the sofa, dangerously close to where Shelly was holding her breath.

"Why's it gotta be this hard, Backpack?" He sighed. He peeled off his mask and tossed it down next to him. Richie winced and squeezed his eyes shut, hearing a muffled gasp from the office. Frieda might have a vague glimpse, but thankfully Shelly did not.

"I'm lookin' everywhere, you know?" He confided in the machine, which beeped back. "He's gotta be kidnapped or somethin'. If I can't find Rich by tomorrow morning, I'm going to Gotham and that's that."

'_Virgil has_ got _to stop talking to himself like that,' _Richie thought.

Backpack beeped louder and blinked its lights green and red. Static walked over to the window, staring angstily outside. With his back turned, he didn't notice Backpack's long camera eye swivel toward Richie's hiding place. Richie frantically signaled no to Backpack (accidentally smacking Madelyn in the face once or twice), who finally understood and retracted its eye, turning away from its master. Short-lived relief flooded Richie. Madelyn hit his arm in revenge.

Static walked over to the radio.

"Maybe there'll be something to keep my mind off Richie," He muttered to himself. "Crime's slow today."

With a click he turned on the police reports. A voice slightly muffled from radio static blared into the quiet.

"… with license plate number 546-AOP was seen speeding dangerously from a parking lot of the an Alva Industry building after trespassing on the premises and murdering two security guards and causing serious injuries to three others. Suspects are estimated to be armed and dangerous. If anyone has any information regarding these – "

Virgil clicked off the radio and grabbed his mask. He slid it on his face with a grin, pulling out his flying disk with a flick of the wrist.

"Time for some justice," He commented to no one, unaware of how cheesy he sounded, and jetted through the door in a shimmer of purple. There was a very heavy silence and Richie dreaded what was to come next. He stood, tripping out of his hiding place with a little difficulty.

"Did I just hear my license plate number on a police report?" Shelly said shakily, rising from behind the couch.

"Did I just see Static's real identity is Virgil Hawkins?" Frieda asked in awe, coming out of the office.

"Did I just swallow a dust bunny?" Madelyn coughed, opening the closet door with more force than was necessary. "Foley, you really gotta clean this place."

"Um," Richie said, squeezing past Madelyn and moving toward the middle of the room. He wished he could sink into the floor. His headache was throbbing. Backpack beeped happily and scampered toward Richie, who crouched and petted the machine fondly.

"That's so creepy," Madelyn said, and then muttered almost to herself, "And my bracelet is scratching me."

"Lemme look," Frieda offered, grabbing Madelyn's wrist without asking. The brunette tried pulling away, but Frieda was already gingerly touching the chafe and twisting the metal band with interest to read the inscription.

"Project Julede?" She read haltingly. "Cap. 2? Cap… _Captive_?" She looked up at Madelyn, who had an odd expression on her face. Frieda dropped Madelyn's wrist and knelt next to Richie and Backpack, snatching Richie's arm before he could move away.

"_Captive 1_?" She exclaimed in horror. "What were they _doing_ to you?"

"Just be quiet," Richie mumbled. "I've got a headache."

"I'm sorry, I have to go," Shelly said suddenly, sounding distracted, "they have my license plate number; I need to convince the police it was stolen or something…"

"Hey, ma'am, hold on there," Richie said, dislodging Frieda and hurrying forward. He skidded to a stop between Shelly and the direction of the parking lot, blocking her exit. "You aren't leaving."

"Excuse me?" Shelly said incredulously, forgetting to correct him about the "ma'am."

"You heard me," Richie said seriously. "You aren't leaving."

"Well, of course she is," Frieda protested, looking just as shocked as Shelly. "I have school in the morning and she has work. We need to go."

"Oh, no," It was Madelyn this time. "Foley is right. You two have to come with us, as much as the thought makes me queasy."

"But –" Shelly began, but Richie cut her off.

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I don't think you understand," He said with a sort of strained politeness. "We appreciate all the help you've given us, but you cannot leave. You see, you are a reporter, and you report news. We," He gestured to himself and Madelyn. "Are incredible news. It doesn't take a genius to predict super promotions for Miss Sandoval at the release of an article detailing us and our involvement with this company, because whoever it is and whatever we're doing with it is undoubtedly illegal."

"Besides," Madelyn added. "It wouldn't matter if you were a reporter or not. Firstly, you'll ruin our cover and now we're fugitives. And secondly, you'd risk exposing his little friend Virgil Hawkins. Or should I say Static…. Right, _Gear_?"

Richie, Frieda, and Shelly let out simultaneous gasps of shock and Richie froze, eyes wide. He rounded on Madelyn with a look that would have made boiling water freeze. Madelyn looked entirely unapologetic.

"Whoops?" She offered.

"V-Virgil? It looked like him… but…" Frieda asked. She looked as if she was about to faint. "Wait, so… he's… and you're…"

"I couldn't see his face," Shelly lamented creakily when she finally regained control of her voice, "But my God, now _that_ is news."

"Look at that, Madelyn!" Richie burst out furiously. "Thanks a lot, you idiot!"

Madelyn shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned, and inspected her nails with a casual air.

"Serves you right, Richie Foley," She said. "Exposing me and all. Turnabout is fair play, you know."

Richie's jaw clenched.

"Well," He said uncomfortably to Shelly and Frieda. "Yet another reason why you can't leave."

"Are you crazy?" Shelly retorted. "I'm out of here. This will make my career!"

"Are you really Gear?" Frieda asked in a quiet voice that was filled with something like awe.

Richie flushed and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as he was suddenly the subject of three pairs of eyes. This was not how he had imaged the big unveil. Not at all.

"Uh, yeah," He muttered, feeling utterly lame and anticlimactic.

"Wow," Frieda said with dawning comprehension. "All your and Virgil's absences make sense now."

"Yeah, I guess they would," Richie said tersely. Suddenly he heard the sound of a siren and his eyes widened. He stared at Shelly.

"What?"

"The convenience store. The security cameras. If they can get a close enough view of my hair, they could get a close enough view of your license plate. We have to leave, right now."

Frieda peered through the dingy curtains out the window and Madelyn poked her head through a window in the back of the station.

"Better leave the back way," Frieda said.

"No way," Madelyn countered grimly. "There's cars out back, too!"

"Oh, no," Richie groaned, fighting the urge to put his head in his hands. "Today's a bad day."

"No," Madelyn said sarcastically.

"Okay!" Richie said, rubbing his hands together. "Here's how it works. Can you snowboard, Madelyn? Skateboard, even?"

"No, but –"

"Great, that works for me. Instead of snow, it's air, it's that easy." Richie said, rummaging through a pile of gadgets and unearthing what looked like a large snowboard from the early days of Gear. "You and Frieda or Miss Sandoval are riding on this."

"I can snowboard, Richie," Frieda volunteered, and Richie paused unhappily but passed the board over. He leaned forward and explained the way to operate it.

"All you have to do is hook your feet on and there are pressure pads, right here… and here… and right there is the one for acceleration… and if you need to you can reach down and use your hand to turn it on and off by a emergency switch. Kay?"

"I think I've got it," Frieda said, taking a deep breath.

"We have the premises surrounded," Came a voice amplified by a megaphone from the front of the gas station. "Come out with your hands up."

Richie was hurriedly putting on his skates, fastening the Velcro tightly. He didn't have time to find his pads or his helmet, much less change into Gear's costume…

"I repeat, come out with your hands up!"

Frieda toed the pad that started the board and found herself hovering a good foot from the ground. "Whoa… This would be so fun if I wasn't about to be arrested and sent to prison." She mused with a nervous giggle.

"Last chance! On the count of three we will enter by force if you do not surrender peacefully!"

"C'mon, let's go!" Madelyn whined.

"Dibs on Shelly!" Frieda shouted, scooting over to the older woman and helping her aboard. The two stood facing each other on the board. They wavered unsteadily and had to grasp each other to keep from tipping.

"_Three!"_

"_I_ had dibs on Shelly…" Richie pouted. Frieda grinned victoriously.

"_Two!"_

"Just grab me and let's go!" Madelyn yelled.

"_One!"_

**CRASH.**

The door flung open and Richie snatched Madelyn by the waist. Her hands instinctively hooked behind his neck and he put an extra oomph on his skates to zoom through the dust and over the heads of startled Dakota policemen. He and Madelyn were followed by the shaky duo of Frieda and Shelly, who zipped right after with thrusters full boost. There was a roar from the police below.

"Hey!" Yelled the chief of police through the megaphone. "Get back here! We'll find you no matter how hard you try to escape!"

"Give it your best shot!" Taunted Madelyn from Richie's arms as they gained their bearings in the air. The chief heard.

"You heard the girl," He said to the force. "Your best shot, eh, boys?"

There was a mass chorus of clicks as at least twenty-five guns cocked and pointed vertically. The sun glinted off the metal like some sort vindictive, mocking wink.

"Damnit, Madelyn!" Richie shouted angrily as the first bang sent a bullet whizzing right next to his kneecap.

"Motor!" Frieda shrieked, and she and Shelly slammed down on the accelerator pad simultaneously. They cut through the air past Richie and Madelyn and a shower of bullets. Richie kicked his heel to initiate the thruster and scooped Madelyn up in a more effective Superman-and-Lois-Lane position and pushed off. Above and in front of him Frieda and Shelly screamed as they turned nearly horizontal and a bullet or two ricocheted off the bottom of the board.

"Frieda!" Richie yelled hoarsely up at her. Her hair was whipping in the wind and she looked over her shoulder at him. "Right pad, hit it twice!"

She nodded and stomped down hard twice, and she and Shelly were righted in the air and gaining altitude. Shelly was terrified, but seemed to be holding on okay. Frieda swerved to avoid a shot when she heard a male voice let out a pained shout.

"Richie!" She shrieked.

He was losing altitude fast with a grimace on his face, and Madelyn was screaming, holding on to him for dear life. Her hat had run away with the wind and her dark hair was trying to do the same, spread out and vertical with their descent. There was a thin string of red liquid dripping through the air like sick raindrops.

The police had mostly let up on the assault of bullets, but a few still had their sights on the dropping twosome. Frieda and Shelly stared in horror as Madelyn squirmed and clutched at Richie's coat, finally pulling out a long barrel of metal that caught the sun in victory.

Richie was awake but in some kind of daze, and she somehow kicked at Richie's skates and the pair accelerated skywards as if being pulled upright by a rope. Madelyn clung awkwardly to Richie with one arm tightly around his chest and her feet on his, while holding gun straight out with the other arm. She squinted one eye closed…

**BANG.**

A uniformed figured crumpled to the ground and the others were dropping their weapons and rushing to help him. Madelyn was already pocketing her gun and shaking Richie as best she could while still holding on. They were quickly rocketing toward Shelly and Frieda, away from the police and the gas station.

"My shoulder," Richie said in a daze, looking at his right arm. The skin was broken deeply and it was bleeding all over their clothes.

"Look, Richie Foley," Madelyn said ferociously. "I do not want you to die, but I most definitely do not want _me _to die. You're landing and _then_ you can deal with how you feel."

Somehow that broke through his stupor and he pushed them through the air to where Shelly and Frieda were anxiously coasting on a thermal. Shelly leaned back to balance them out while Frieda grasped Madelyn and Richie's hands.

"How is he, oh my god, is it bad?" Frieda babbled, terrified.

"Well, duh, he was shot. I don't think it's bad though," Madelyn said, glancing over at Richie.

"Damn, my shoulder hurts," He said through gritted teeth. "I think I can fly well though. Um…. Let's… God, how about the docks? They're just a few minutes away and there's lots of empty warehouses."

"That works," Shelly said, eyeing Richie with concern. "I need to take a look at that."

"Yeah," Richie breathed, and let go of the air board. He and Madelyn dropped about five feet and got their bearings, then he propelled them to the front. After a few tense minutes of flying, the open water greeted them with a cheerful sparkle. The docks were mildly busy and they lowered altitude, coming to a landing in a dark, shadowy alley of an old, deserted section of warehouses.

Madelyn let go of Richie a couple feet from the ground and helped him land, making sure not to touch the rapidly expanding red stain on his shoulder. Frieda landed her and Shelly with rough inexperience, and Shelly toppled to the ground.

"Sorry, Shelly," Frieda said sheepishly.

"It's okay," Shelly said, rubbing her bottom as she stood. "I'm more worried about Richie."

He was leaning against the concrete warehouse wall and Madelyn was helping him take off his coat. He made a face and slid down to the ground, looking up at the telekinetic girl.

"You're a really good shot, Madelyn," He complimented her honestly as she tossed his coat aside and started putting pressure on the wound. "Thank you."

"Thanks," She mumbled, blowing her hair out of her face. Richie wondered where her barrette was.

"But you're also really, really stupid." He continued.

"What?" Madelyn exclaimed, taking her hands away.

"What were you thinking, taunting the police like that! Now not only is my shoulder a mess and any one of us could have been killed, and you've just given law enforcement yet another reason to believe we're guilty."

"Technically, we really are guilty of hurting those security guards," Frieda admitted unhappily.

"And killing them," Richie added with a look at Madelyn.

"I was protecting you!" Madelyn cried, feeling completely ganged up on. "Just because you –"

"Let me have a look at that, Richie," Shelly interrupted, sounding genuinely concerned and kneeling next to him. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, so she didn't really have to push the clothing up. The whole right side of his shirt was doused in oozy red liquid, but the actual wound seemed to be coagulating already. The pale skin was almost curled back, like it was shying away from the singed muscle. Shelly leaned forward and inspected it cautiously. Frieda looked away, slightly sick.

"Actually, I don't even think there's a bullet in there," She said. "It looks like it just skid by you and cut your skin."

"Whew," Richie said sarcastically. "As long as it's not, you know, painful or anything like that."

"Don't be like that," Shelly said. "I'm only trying to help. I need some water to clean it off."

"The water by the docks is Brackish," Richie explained, wincing as Shelly touched the open skin. "There's, ow, watch it, no way to get really fresh water."

"Actually," Frieda said. "I've still got my water bottle."

"What made you bring that?" Richie asked incredulously as the redhead shrugged and handed the half-empty bottle to Shelly. "Not that I'm complaining."

Shelly grabbed the sleeve of Richie's overcoat that wasn't covered in his blood and, with effort, tore it at the shoulder seam. She poured a bit of water on it and dabbed gingerly at Richie's skin. He grimaced and gave a loud hiss.

"Easy there, please," He said weakly.

"Sorry," Shelly apologized, and continued to wash off the crusting blood. Frieda helped wrap the sleeve tightly around Richie's right shoulder and they secured it as best they could with a length of discarded rope that Frieda found around the corner. Madelyn sat moodily away from the trio the whole time.

Shelly stood up, brushing off her pantlegs. "I think you'll be okay, Richie. Just… take it easy."

"I don't really think that's possible any more," Richie muttered, and looked away. His headache was turning into a migraine.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **I'm overall pretty satisfied with the whole thing. Quite a comeback chapter, huh? Enough action for you, or am I moving the story along too fast? For those of you that are rooting for Richie/Madelyn… don't worry. These things don't happen in a span of 48 hours, you know.

Everyone, please review and forgive me for the long wait. :-)


	7. Chapter Seven

**Author's Note:** Lol **three years wtf?!** The update, as promised. A little late. Posting this at 3:00am, excuse grammatical fail plz. **:(**

**Chapter Seven**

Night in the creepy docks descended upon the foursome much too quickly for comfort, and they were forced to resort to prying open a large window and sneaking inside the nearest warehouse. It was full of dusty old crates stacked on top of each other, some reaching as high as the ceiling. Frieda leaned the flying board against one.

The last person in, Richie glanced around in the dimly lit repository and let the window drop with a clang back into place. The group stood awkwardly until Shelly broke the silence.

"This is awful," She said with a sigh to Frieda. "I'm sorry I let you come with me, I can't imagine what your parents would say."

"Miss Sandoval, I don't blame you, really," The redhead assured her. "Investigative journalism is something I've always wanted to do. I just…" She bit her lip, glancing at her old classmates. "I didn't think it would go so far."

With another sigh, Shelly turned to Richie and Madelyn. "Listen you two, I'm sorry you're in trouble, but as the adult in this situation I've made the decision. I'm afraid we're all going to the authorities as soon as possible."

"What?" Richie said incredulously, at the same time Madelyn demanded, "Excuse me?"

"I don't know how you became involved in whatever's going on, Richie, Madelyn, but this isn't something you can solve on your own." Shelly said patiently. "It's time to hand things over to people who know what's going on."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Madelyn spat from where she stood next to Richie, whose dark brows were knitted in consternation. The two had drawn unconsciously closer together at Shelly's words, standing side by side like a last line of defense. Madelyn was noticeably smaller than Richie when compared this close, but they seemed to possess equal strength; his arms were crossed against his chest and her hands were firmly on her hips, as was usual during her more heated arguments. "This is bigger than me and this dumb jerk!"

"Miss Sandoval, you have to understand," Richie began, uncrossing his arms in a placating way. "It's not that I don't trust you… it's just that, um, well I sort of don't trust you very much. With the information you have. And that you know my identity." Frieda gave him an exasperated look and Richie quickly backpedaled. "Not that you're not a nice person and everything, and uh, you've been really great, and cooperative, helping us and all, and uh, well, what I mean is…"

"Richie, you should really give it some thought," Frieda cut him off as he floundered for words. She dusted off the crate closest to her and took a seat. "Who knows what we're up against?"

Madelyn glared at Frieda so ferociously that the other girl was taken aback. Madelyn started forward to make her point and her ankle jerked to the side. With a grimace she plopped down on a crate opposite Frieda.

Sending a concerned frown in Madelyn's direction, Shelly stepped in between the girls.

"I know you don't want to, but you really don't have a choice," She said. "It's too dangerous to do… whatever it is we're doing. It's not - "

"You _will_ do what I say!" Madelyn interrupted, trying to stand on her feet and being prevented by her ankle. She brushed her bangs out of her face angrily. "And I say that you will stay here and not go to any authorities whatsoever!"

Shelly opened her mouth to respond, but Richie intervened.

"Look." He said. "Let's just put the topic aside for now and focus on the present."

"If I had my powers..." Madelyn muttered threateningly.

Shelly turned on them, frustrated. "I'm responsible for you kids, somehow or another. We have no plan, no food, two of you are injured without proper medical care. We don't even have anywhere to spend the night!"

There was a thick silence following her outburst, and Richie and Shelly, the only two still standing, sank down onto crates as well. Madelyn stared sullenly at the ground, and scooted farther away from Richie as he sat on a nearby crate. The moonlight was filtering in through the dirty windows and the shadows in the warehouse were deep.

"Actually, I think there's a motel around here," Frieda supplied at last. Her pretty voice echoed. "I don't know how far… but downtown used to have a few."

"Well, that settles it," Richie said with finality, rubbing his hands together. "Come on, gang. We can fly low since it's dark out, and we'll glide until we spot a motel."

"We don't have any money," Madelyn said flatly.

"I have like ten dollars," Frieda offered.

"I've got my credit card," Shelly suggested, to which Richie immediately shook his head.

"Credit cards, IDs, cell phones - we can't use any of it. It can all be traced."

"Oh, fine," Shelly said, defeated. She resignedly walked over to the board, and Frieda got up and followed, her hair swaying behind her.

Richie looked down at Madelyn. Madelyn looked up at Richie. Blue eyes met brown and with a sigh he stretched out a hand to help her up. She unhappily accepted it. Their metal bracelets clinked together.

* * *

Twenty minutes of searching eventually led to rough landings behind a dingy old motel. The lights were off in every room, and the group stalked along the back, trudging over strangled brown weeds and a broken cement sidewalk. The doors were dirty, and the bronze knobs looked shaky.

Peeking in windows through the cracked blinds, they finally found a room on the far end of the motel which looked deserted. As Shelly jiggled the handle, the intensely moral superhero in Richie finally burst free.

"But - but - that's illegal!" He sputtered. Madelyn rolled her eyes.

"Nothing's illegal until you get caught," Shelly said grimly. The door handle popped open with a soft click.

"That's my kind of journalism!" Frieda said enthusiastically.

"Stay here," Shelly said. "I'll have a look around and see if it's safe."

"But -" Richie started, but Shelly was already gone.

Inside, the motel room was small but not cramped. The lights were off and Shelly refrained from turning any on, but the moon was full and the light, though dim, was enough. There were two twin beds, each with nightstands, a tall bureau, and a small dirty-orange armchair. In the corner was a small table with a Mr. Coffee and a complimentary whicker basket of instant coffee and grape jelly packets. Shelly crept further into the room, gently running her fingers over the dusty telephone on the far left nightstand. The wallpaper which clung to every inch of available wall was hideous; it was a disastrous mustard yellow with a clumsy, repetitive arrangement of swirly, bulbous purple flowers.

The only thing in the bureauwas a tattered old bible with dog-eared pages and faded print. Shelly moved past it and immediately come across a bathroom. Feeling that it was safe enough, she called quietly to Richie, Frieda, and Madelyn. The latter was hobbling, using Frieda for support. They looked around, much in the same way as Shelly had.

With the door they'd come through safely shut and locked behind them, Shelly flicked on the light in the bathroom. With the bathroom door closed, the light wasn't obvious, and their risk of being discovered would be slim.

The bathroom was grungy, with old tile and a rust stain from the faucet, but it would do. She leaned into the shower stall and turned on the water. It chugged into life reluctantly at first, and then came to full power. Satisfied, Shelly turned it off. Upon further snooping, she was surprised to find that there were a few towels in the cabinet, and they actually looked relatively clean, and in the drawer underneath the sink she found a sparse first aid kit. She smiled.

"Okay," Shelly said to the teenagers after re-emerging from the bathroom. "There's only instant coffee and I don't think any of us needs to be awake right now, so we'll save it for the morning and try to find some food then. The shower works fine. Who's first?"

Frieda ended up showering first, then Shelly, then Richie. Madelyn was next in line, and was giving the hot water a minute to regenerate. The closeness of the motel room and their escaping capture so far gave the group a sense of temporary security.

"It's so crazy… this whole experience has been really Twilight Zone-y," Frieda was saying from where she sat on one of the twin beds, dressed and toweling off her red hair. She pulled it up into a ponytail. They all had no other clothes except their grimy old ones, but they had to do.

"Or Outer Limits-y," Richie put in.

"What?"

"Good show, same eerie kind of feel as the Twilight Zone, same era, but not as widely referenced," Richie explained knowingly. He adjusted his glasses and leaned back on his chair.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what was that?" Madelyn teased. She was sitting on the other bed opposite Frieda. "I don't speak geek."

"Ha, ha. You're so funny."

"Ouch," Frieda commented, but her lips were twitching upwards. Shelly winced in sympathy.

"Does it hurt when I burn you?" Madelyn asked Richie, smirking.

"I hate women," Richie muttered under his breath.

"Well, it shows," Madelyn quipped. Shelly and Frieda couldn't hold it in any more and burst into laughter.

"That's it!" Richie cried, standing up so quickly that his chair fell back onto the floor. "I'm sick of you, Madelyn! You're always starting stuff for no reason! It's like we're back to running for Freshman class president and you're a sore loser."

"Calm down, Richie, it was just a joke," Frieda said with a frown, giggles dying off. "She didn't mean anything by it."

"Yeah, well I'm sick of _you_, Richie Foley!" Madelyn said, eyes flashing. She stood and limped over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with more force than was necessary.

"Whatever," Richie said forlornly. "Psycho."

Soon after the fight, both Shelly and Frieda nearly collapsed with exhaustion on the first bed, too tired to be concerned about the close proximity. Richie was laying on the second bed, but his mind was buzzing as usual, and making it hard for him to sleep. He was almost dozing off when he heard a low thump and a curse from inside the bathroom.

In a second he was up and his ear pressed against the door.

"Madelyn?" He hissed. He tapped his knuckles against the wood. "Madelyn!"

A groan greeted him in response.

Richie's eyes widened, and he cast a quick glance at the two women on the bed. Frieda was snoring slightly, mouth hanging open. They were both deeply asleep.

"Madelyn?" He asked again, and the answer he received was muffled. Closing his eyes and shaking his head, Richie steeled himself and opened the door.

Hot steam hit him the instant he did, fogging up his glasses and leaving him completely unprepared when a figure fell forward at him. Conquering a sudden déjà vu involving a bloody corpse, Richie cringed and caught the girl by the hips, very, very relieved to feel towel and not bare skin.

"Ahhhh," Madelyn groaned, buckled a little in Richie's arms. "Ouchhh ouch ouch."

Richie helped her sit on the edge of the bathtub, her left leg sprawled out in front of her. Her ankle, he noted in alarm, was purple and swollen twice the size of the other.

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" Richie demanded.

"What, and ruin all the fun we were having?" Madelyn answered snidely.

"Okay," Richie said, gritting his teeth and ignoring her sarcasm. "Well what happened just now?"

"I tripped and couldn't get up," the girl admitted miserably. Richie could tell she was exhausted and her ankle was causing her a lot of pain, but somehow, she still managed to add a little nastiness into her tone. "When I was trying to stand just now I fell again… good thing you caught me."

"Ha, ha…" Richie laughed awkwardly, noticing how Madelyn's shiny black hair was clinging delicately to her neck and to the curve of her collarbone. She shifted and suddenly a rather lot of slim, tan leg was showing. She didn't seem to notice. With a cough, Richie looked away at the cabinets.

"Oh! I know!" He said excitedly, practically bursting with relief in this distraction. "The first aid kit Miss Sandoval found, I bet it has gauze or something. I'll wrap up the ankle to stop the swelling."

Grabbing the first aid kit, Richie snapped open the box. He sifted through the contents, finding bandaids, a half used tube of disinfectant, some old tylenol, and a roll of gauze. Madelyn was silent while Richie pulled out a length of gauze and wrapped it tightly around her ankle. She hissed a little when he pulled it taunt, and jerked her leg away once he was finished. He backed out of the bathroom after that, leaving her to get dressed. When she opened the door fully clothed, she leaned against the doorframe.

"Um… thanks." She said awkwardly. The words were foreign in her mouth.

"Uh, you're welcome, I guess," Richie said uncomfortably, shifting from foot to foot.

After a minute of silence, Richie started towards the bed, intent on resuming his dozing.

"What do you think you're doing, Richie Foley?" Madelyn said icily. Richie turned around.

"Going to bed. What does it look like?"

"Oh, no you're not," Madelyn said. "That's _my _bed."

"No way! I got it first!" Richie countered, falling back into their more comfortable manner of communicating. This he could handle.

"Excuse me, blondie, but I am not sleeping on the floor!"

"Well neither am I!"

"Oh yes you are!"

"No I'm not!"

"Obey me!"

"Obey… _what?_ What is wrong with you?"

Madelyn started to reply but Richie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Another headache was building.

"Look, Madelyn, whatever," He said. "I'm tired, just take the stupid bed."

The girl was silent for a minute, and then, chin raised high, gave Richie a triumphant "hmph" and crawled into bed. With a groan, Richie resigned himself to the armchair, taking off his glasses and curling up as best he could.

* * *

Richie awoke to the sound of female voices and immediately registered three things: the smell of bad instant coffee, the throbbing pain of his arm, and the sharp ache in his neck from the awkward angle in which he'd slept. He stretched and groaned, fumbling blindly for his glasses and cracking his spine as he did.

"Oh, Richie, that's gross," Frieda said from somewhere to his left. "And so bad for you. Arthritis or whatever."

"Actually, Frieda," Richie began around a yawn. He rubbed his bleary, sleep-filled eyes as he spoke. "The fluid in your joints takes about 20 minutes to reform after you break the seal inside them, and as long as you wait enough time between cracking there's no definite harm in the long run."

She made a face. "Who cares?"

Richie frowned, proceeding to crack his knuckles.

"Want some coffee?" Shelly offered. She was holding out a white Styrofoam cup brimming with steamy black coffee, stirring it with a small straw. Richie climbed out of the armchair stiffly and took the cup from her, feeling the warmth of the liquid through the Styrofoam. He looked into it.

"Sorry," Shelly said apologetically, knowing what he was thinking. "You'll have to take it black. No creamer or anything."

"Well, better than nothing," Richie shrugged. He raised his cup in mock salute and said, "Bottom's up!"

He took a swig - and promptly gagged on his coffee as it scorched his tongue.

"What the - " He sputtered. "What did you give me, _boiling lava_?!"

Madelyn laughed.

Richie glared in her direction. She was perched daintily on the edge of the bed, her clothes somehow managing to look neat despite everything, and appearing relatively well rested. Richie was simultaneously overwhelmed with a bitter surge of regret at letting her have the bed, and a flash of the events of last night - their fight, her gasp when he bandaged her ankle, the contrast of her black hair against her wet skin...

"Oh," Richie said, shaking his head. "I just remembered. Let's take that first aid kit with us."

"But that's stealing, Foley," Madelyn mocked.

"It's necessary, Spaulding," Richie said through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, we should," Frieda said. "We should really get going though. And get some food."

Richie's grumbling stomach agreed with that statement very much and very loudly. The girls all stared and his ears pinked.

"I'm a growing boy, ladies," He said sheepishly.

"Sorry to interrupt," Madelyn said, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. Her metal bracelet caught the light. "But we need a plan. I think I'm best at this sort of thing, after all, so I should be leader."

"Leader?" Richie snorted. "We've been over this before. And I have a plan anyway."

"Oh, do you, now?" Madelyn replied with false sweetness. "Is it as well thought out as your last platform?"

"This isn't some dumb class election, Madelyn," Richie said in frustration. He started pacing back and forth on the stained carpet of the motel room. "Just listen. We need to find some food and we need to get into the gas station again - I need to get Backpack and I have enough equipment there to run some tests."

"That place is going to be swarming with cops and news crews," Shelly pointed out. "Not exactly easy to get into."

"I know," Richie said unhappily. "But we have to try. Or at least get somewhere for me to put together enough data to have some kind of idea as to what happened to us."

"Back to the building?" Frieda suggested.

"No, that's too dangerous." Shelly said firmly. She was leaning against the wall, looking at each of the teenagers in front of her. "I can't have any of you put yourselves in even more danger than is necessary. I still believe we need to go to the authorities."

"We're not having that discussion again," Madelyn warned.

"Okay then," Richie said. "The alternative is maybe… oh I don't know…"

"What about the school science lab?" Frieda asked. Richie gave her a skeptical look and she added defensively, "Well, you're supposed to be a super-genius, right? You could work with primitive high school lab equipment."

"I guess…" He said hesitantly.

"So school it is!" Madelyn said. "This'll be fun. I haven't been in Dakota High since, well, you know."

"But first…" Richie said with a grin. "To the food!!"

After a few minutes of taking turns in the bathroom freshening up and a few more trying to make it look as if they'd never been there, the foursome crept from their motel room into the early morning light, emboldened by their lack of detection. Frieda and Shelly seemed to have gotten the hang of balancing on Gear's board, but Madelyn and Richie were still uncomfortable with the closeness required for the skates.

"Be careful where you're grabbing," Madelyn said as Richie put an arm around her waist and she clasped her hands around his neck. She stepped onto the top of his feet and braced herself as Richie crouched and they shot up into the sky.

Richie stared resolutely ahead as they flew on, scanning the area.

"There!" He called to Frieda and Shelly after they'd been flying for a while. "That diner!"

He dipped low, and Madelyn felt his grip tighten and found herself pressed very close against his chest. She felt her breath shorten. From the altitude.

They landed beside the other two and after concealing the board and Richie's skates in a nearby alley, they walked cautiously into the diner.

It was a homey, isolated Mom-and-Pop sort of place, with cheap, homemade food and old regulars chatting at their tables. Yellowing old family photos were hung on the walls in thick wooden frames, and roughhewn tables covered with plastic tablecloths were all topped with ketchup bottles and salt and pepper shakers. The smell of bacon and eggs hit them and had all of their stomachs grumbling immediately.

A few heads turned when the bell above the door chimed as they entered but none stayed interested for long. They wandered in and sat at a table in a corner near the door, where Richie deliberately stole the seat next to Frieda. The paper menu was simple, with basic breakfast staples.

A friendly-looking old woman with silver hair appeared, holding a little notepad in one hand and smiling down at them. In her other hand she held a small platter with four ceramic mugs and a matching pitcher. She set them down and began pouring a much more appetizing version of the drink Richie had so horribly experienced not thirty minutes ago.

"Complimentary coffee until 10:00am," She explained in a warm, warbling voice. "Now what can I get for you children?"

"Four waters," Madelyn said before anyone could object. "And for me I want the pancakes. They need to be fresh with 1/3 cup refined maple syrup and if you insist I'll take three tablespoons whipped cream, on the side."

Three sets of eyes glared at her, but the old woman just smiled. The crows feet around her gray eyes crinkled upwards.

"Very nice," She said. "Who's next?"

Shelly, Frieda, and Richie all ordered much more politely than Madelyn, who was unfazed by their reactions. Their food was fast to arrive, and as they ate, Shelly noticed an old television set mounted above the bar was tuned to the news.

"Look," Shelly said, pointing with a crispy piece of bacon. "I think they're talking about yesterday."

Richie stopped in the middle of inhaling his scrambled eggs and turned his attention to the TV.

"This Robert Smith, standing in for Shelly Sandoval." A sharply dressed man said in an even voice. His teeth were blinding. Behind him was the Gas Station of Solitude, every inch seemingly covered in yellow police tape. "I'm here live at this old gas station, previously thought to be abandoned. Police are investigating the alleged kidnapping of high school Seniors Richie Foley and Frieda Goren. They were spotted with two more unidentified females leaving this very gas station riding some sort of flying instruments yesterday around 6:00pm and have not been seen since. Dakota PD assures us that more information will be released as the investigation continues but stress that the safe return of Richie Foley and Frieda Goren is their top priority.

"In other news, accomplished scientist and researcher Andrew Sandoval - best known for his renowned breakthroughs in genetic research - was found dead yesterday in an Alva Industries laboratory in east Dakota. Sandoval had been rumored to be working in conjunction with a few other scientists, though the nature of their project is unknown. Details of this tragic event have not yet been disclosed and Alva Industries has declined comment.

"Again, if anyone sees Richie Foley or Frieda Goren, they are strongly urged to contact the police."

Richie stared as giant pictures of him and Frieda suddenly took over the screen. Then Robert Smith's chiseled jaw and slick hair reappeared, smiling.

"For Dakota's News Watch W4SM, this is Robert Smith, signing off."

The diner was eerily quiet. Richie's gaze locked with Madelyn's; her brown eyes were wide. Slowly he turned around, and every face in the diner was staring at him, his distinctive blonde hair and glasses giving him away all too easily. A man at the bar had some hash browns dangling off his lip, and a woman a few feet away had stopped eating, fork in midair. The silver-haired woman who had taken their order was picking up the phone.

"Oh shi-"

"Run!" Frieda cried, but Shelly was frozen to her chair.

"Did you hear that?" She whispered hoarsely. "Oh god, did you hear that?"

"Yes, and that woman is calling the police right now!"

"No," Shelly said in a daze. "My father! He's… Oh god…"

Richie's heart sank to the floor even as he grabbed one arm and Frieda grabbed the other, and they were pulling Shelly to the door, Madelyn limping along behind them.

"Stop!" A man shouted, and half the diner was up from their seats noisily, moving, following, as the foursome tore down the street into the alleyway. Panting, Madelyn didn't hesitate to latch onto Richie, and Frieda struggled to keep the dazed Shelly from falling off the board. With a few stomps on the panels Frieda was in the air, supporting Shelly's weight as the Hispanic woman stared off in a watery-eyed stupor.

The mob was skidding around the corner now, peering into and then charging the dark alleyway in a mad dash at capturing them. A middle-aged man, the one who had shouted first, reach them just as they were lifting off.

"Wait!" He said loudly, grabbing onto Richie's ankle with sweaty fingers and pulling hard.

"Yahh!" Richie yelped, but Madelyn kicked the man square in the face. With a cry of pain he let go, clutching his nose with blood streaming down his chin. Richie hit the thrusters, forcing their way into the sky, and he and Madelyn zoomed off after Frieda and Shelly. They looked back down at the crowd from the safety of the clouds.

"Oh," Richie said with a little guilt. "We didn't even leave a tip."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Uh, review for me please? If anyone is even still reading. **:(** I understand, you guys. But I have inspiration, I plan on finishing this… eventually. Ahaha. **:P**


	8. Chapter Eight

**Author's Note: ** Dialogue heavy but I hope you like it. I just rediscovered fanfiction a couple days ago and couldn't resist trying to finish this story. Lotsa stuff happens in this chapter. A stupid amount of stuff. Please enjoy, and maybe give chapters 1-7 a quick reread?

**Chapter Eight**

"Why, God, why?" Richie sobbed theatrically. "Goodbye, my friends… Oh, I will miss you. We've been through so much… please forgive me, I didn't want it to end like this…"

It was early afternoon but the sunny skies didn't stop late November from cooling Dakota's air. Richie, Madelyn, Frieda, and Shelly were all seated in a small clearing flanked by shedding trees. Shelly sat on a thick tree stump, head bowed and eyes down, with a worried Frieda next to her. Madelyn was perched delicately on a fallen log, ankle stretched out in front of her, absently crushing leaves in her palms. And then there was Richie, kneeling in the center over his freshly buried inventions.

"Oh, give it a rest," Madelyn said, using her good foot to kick some more dirt onto the grave from her seat nearby. Some of it flew up and hit Richie in the face and he sputtered.

"Hey! You know nothing of the love one man has for his tech!" Richie objected, brushing off his face and leaving a few streaks of dirt on his cheek.

"I know you're a loser and a dweeb," Madelyn replied easily, the corners of her mouth twitching up. "Now stop playing in the dirt and let's go."

"Sorry Richie," Frieda said with sympathy. She was crouched on the ground, one hand on Shelly's shoulder. "You said it yourself. 'Gotta cover our tracks, switch it up.'"

"But my skates!" Richie moaned.

"Don't be a baby," Madelyn snorted. "What's the big deal?"

Richie glowered. After narrowly losing the diner mob, they had stopped in an outcropping of woods and decided that their usage of Gear's skates and board was much too obvious. Dakota PD, while ridiculously incompetent on occasion, wasn't entirely stupid. The connection had to have been made already, or at least it would be soon enough, especially if Static was on the case. And if Richie knew Virgil, which he did probably better than he knew himself, Static was definitely on the case.

"They'll be scanning the skies," Richie had pointed out earlier, a fact which he now regretted. Because of his comment, his inventions were now buried under a good foot or so of topsoil.

"It's not like you won't come get them later," Madelyn added.

That much at least was true. Richie possessed a perfect photographic memory along with his incredible intelligence; he could pin point and memorize a couple coordinates with more accuracy than NASA in his sleep. It was just the principle of the thing. Those were his babies.

"Yeah," He stood, dusting dirt off of the borrowed jeans he was wearing. He pushed some of the other fallen leaves over the mound, creating an unsuspicious forest floor. "I guess we're hoofing it from now on out, eh?"

Madelyn made a face.

"So when are we leaving?" Frieda said wearily, pulling her auburn hair back into a neater ponytail.

Richie sighed, resisting the urge to rub his sore shoulder. The wound was shallow and Shelly had redressed it that morning, but it still stung more than Richie wanted to let on. The dressing itself was gradually turning pink again. Statistics of gun shot wound infections leading to death swam into his mind. "I think we need to actually figure out where we're going."

"I thought we were headed to Dakota Union High?" Frieda said. "Unless you have a better plan."

"Going?" Shelly said suddenly, breaking from her daze. She hadn't spoken since they'd left the diner. Her eyes were bloodshot and her lashes were wet as she stared at Richie. "I thought this was over."

"Well, no," He said slowly. He tried to be diplomatic. "We've still got people after us. There's the creeps who took Madelyn and me, and the cops definitely. The only good thing we have going for us is that Static is sure to be looking for me. Even so, the longer we stay here the sooner -"

"I don't know why I've entertained this nonsense so long," Shelly burst out, cutting him off completely. She shrugged off Frieda's hand from her shoulder in anger. "This is ridiculous. Come on, all of you. We're leaving right now!"

She stumbled up from the tree stump, her dark hair falling in front of her face. She grabbed Frieda's wrist in a white-knuckled grip and wrenched her up from the ground, pulling her along forcefully.

"Hey!" Frieda cried in surprise, digging in her heels. Shelly responded by pulling harder in the direction of civilization, back towards the diner. Their struggle kicked up and crunched the fallen autumn leaves, crushing them into powdery dust that filled the air.

"Yo! What are you doing?" Richie yelped, moving forward to help Frieda.

"That hurts!" Frieda cried. Shelly let go, suddenly ashamed.

"Oh, Frieda," She breathed as the girl rubbed her wrists. "I'm so sorry. I'm so… I'm sorry, I just…"

"No, Shelly," Frieda said tightly. "I understand. You're not really yourself right now. I just wish I could help you."

Shelly dissolved into tears. Frieda, kind by nature, moved to hug her, and gently eased her down again onto the tree stump. Richie squatted in front of her.

"Miss Sandoval… Shelly," He said. He took a deep breath. "I didn't know when to tell you, but now's as good a time as any I guess… I met your father."

"What?" Shelly sniffed, raising her head from her arms. The tear tracks were harsh against her skin.

"Yeah," Richie said gravely. "The other night, when I woke up in that laboratory, I was chained to an operating table." He paused and glanced up at Madelyn. The girl had her arms crossed over her chest and was looking away. "We both were."

"You were chained to an operating table?" Frieda echoed, horrified.

"Yeah," Richie answered. He gulped audibly. "And I'm not gonna lie, I was scared. But then your dad showed up, Shelly, and he was so brave. He unlocked the chains and helped us escape. He died helping us live. You have no idea how grateful I am."

"But… what was he even doing there?" Shelly asked, sounding heartbroken.

"He specialized in genetics, right? Well, I think… I think that whatever was happening or about to happen to Madelyn and me, he was part of it, and then maybe it got too deep, or he had some change of heart, and realized how awful it was. And he set us free."

"My father would never perform experiments on children!" Shelly said fiercely.

"He probably had no idea that his genetics research involved us until it was too late." Richie reasoned, but Shelly was inconsolable.

"I don't care," She said, standing again. "You three are coming with me. We're going to the police and that's it. I've had enough of your excuses about Static and Gear and whoever - people are getting killed - _my father _is - he's -" She choked.

"No, Shelly," Richie said vehemently. "Hold up. This is bigger than Static and Gear, something seriously whacked is going on!"

"This isn't up for discussion -"

"Don't you get it?" Madelyn exclaimed. "They experimented or… or _something_ on me and Foley over there! My powers aren't working any more, and that jerk is having migraines every day. What do you think was happening?"

Shelly faltered and Richie spoke before she could say anything.

"Shelly, your father believed that whatever is going on was wrong, and he died saving us."

"I'm staying to help Richie, and I guess Madelyn too." Frieda said firmly. She shook her bangs out of her pretty face. "It's more than a story now, we're_ involved_. But we need you, Shelly. You can't make us go. So stay with us."

"Frieda, I've said it a million times, but this has gone too far." Shelly said, her voice almost pleading. "What about your parents? I'm responsible for your safety!"

"I know," Frieda said, but this time her voice was gentler and she reached out to Shelly. "But I'm pretty sure it's obvious that we can't turn back now."

"Your father gave his life to prevent whatever is going on in that laboratory from happening," Richie said softly. "Isn't it worth figuring out why?"

Shelly drew a shaky breath. For now her crying had wound down to hiccups and sporadic sobs. But she saw Richie's logic, and agreed with it, and her resolve broke. He was right about her father, and her journalistic instinct told her Richie was her way to those answers.

"I guess you're right," Shelly relented quietly. She gave a humorless laugh that was half a sob. "Look at me, almost 30, letting a teenager call the shots."

"If it makes you feel any better, I am the smartest human being alive," Richie joked, trying to lighten the mood. Shelly gave a weak laugh.

"So what do we do now?" Frieda asked.

"I'm taking us back to Dakota Union High," Madelyn said. "From there Richie will use the computers and we'll hack into Alva's databases. Let's go."

"Well, you're uh, you're half right there," Richie said. "But cool your jets for a sec. We can't do anything until nightfall, so we should make good use of our time and get as much background and planning done as we can. Honestly, I just want to get in contact with Static as soon as humanly possible, but that'll be hard considering we've gone off the grid."

"Yeah, and no credit cards or phones or anything that can be traced." Frieda nodded.

"Yep," Richie responded. "and I don't have a Shock Box to communicate with him either." He turned to Shelly. "Shelly, what can you remember about your father's work? He had to have talked about it before. Mentioned it at dinner, or on the phone, maybe? Anything you can remember will help."

"He didn't talk about work much," Shelly answered with a frown. "But he did mention it a few times. He got the job maybe six months ago?"

* * *

_It was June._

_Knock, knock, knock!_

_Mr. Sandoval pushed himself up from his deep armchair with a groan. _

"_I'm coming, I'm coming," He grumbled as he made his way to the front door. He squinted through the peephole and saw a warped version of his daughter's grinning face. He pulled open the door._

"_Buenos dias, mija!" He laughed as she threw arms around him happily. "Come in, come in."_

_She followed her father into house, shutting the door behind her. It was her childhood home; their family had lived in Dakota all her life. She threw her purse down on the bench in the entryway. She'd spent many days in her youth tugging on snow boots or kicking off sneakers sitting right there. With a smile she toed off her flats._

"_What brings you here today, Shelly?" Her father said, settling back down in his armchair with a long sigh and muting the television. "Not that I don't love seeing my only daughter."_

"_It's my day off," She answered, gesturing to the shorts and sleeveless top she was wearing. Her dark hair was pulled up in a stubby ponytail. "Can't wear these at the office, which is a shame since they never seem to turn on the AC. You'd think after the heat wave of last July they'd be more understanding."_

"_Ah," Mr. Sandoval nodded. _

"_Iced tea?" Shelly offered, navigating around the familiar living room and heading to the kitchen._

"_Please," Mr. Sandoval answered. There was some opening and shutting of cabinets, and the mild hum of the refrigerator as Shelly opened and considered its contents. There was a "hmm" followed by an "aha!" and then Mr. Sandoval could hear the tea as it was poured over ice._

"_How are you, papa? I haven't heard from you in months." Shelly called from the kitchen._

"_Well, mija, I've been taken out of retirement." Mr. Sandoval said with a smile. "So I've been very busy."_

"_Out of retirement?" Shelly echoed, coming around the corner with two tall glasses. Condensation dripped down their sides and the ice clinked against each other as she set the glasses between them and took a place opposite her father on the couch. "I thought you liked being retired?"_

"_Oh, I did, but even a quiet man like myself becomes bored." Mr. Sandoval said. "I was approached by a man named Alva and it's a very interesting project. I haven't been able to use my Genetics degree to its full effect in quite some time and I'm excited."_

"_Oh wow," Shelly frowned. "I hope you know the stigma that comes with that name."_

"_Ah, don't worry, mija," Mr. Sandoval placated her, taking a sip of his iced tea. "This is an entirely new branch of the company, only partially funded by the main sector of Alva Industries. Barely connected."_

"_Okay," Shelly said. "What's got you so excited about it?"_

"_Well," Her father said, becoming animated. "You know I specialize in genomics and biomedical engineering, and with this project I'm involved particularly in DNA sequencing. I can't disclose everything but it's revolutionary stuff, Shelly. I'm working with others in my field – tissue and neural engineers as well! There's a lot of highly esteemed people in the scientific community collaborating on this. Thankfully there's not much of a commute for me as they are keeping operations right here in Dakota."_

"_Oh!" Shelly exclaimed, eyes bright. "Can I interview you and do a piece on this?"_

_Mr. Sandoval looked alarmed. _

"_No, no, no," He said adamantly. "It's a classified position… don't repeat any of this, Shelly. This is off the record."_

* * *

Shelly blinked as the memory faded. She stopped speaking and it was the four of them again in the forest clearing.

"That's it? That's all he told you?" Frieda said, clearly disappointed. Richie narrowed his eyes and cocked his head at Shelly.

"There's no such thing as 'off the record' for an aspiring journalist," Madelyn said as if she was reading his mind. "Even if you weren't digging, it's still your job to be nosy. What else do you remember?"

* * *

_It was September._

_There were cars in her father's driveway, which Shelly hadn't expected. They had eaten breakfast together that morning and she'd left her press pass on his kitchen counter by mistake. It was late in the evening, but Shelly had figured he wouldn't mind if she stopped by to grab it. The cars were both jet black and innocuous. Something strange was going on._

_Shelly decided not to park in front of the house and instead slid her car silently against the adjacent neighbor's front curb. She shut off the engine, cut the headlights, slunk down in her seat a bit and waited. Minutes crept past and finally the front door opened, sending a sharp ray of white light into the darkness of the front porch. Three men walked out, followed by her father. They were silhouetted against the house and she could hear their voices speaking indistinctly with her father's. After a moment on the porch they left, one lagging behind to shake hands with Mr. Sandoval, and then the three men got into their cars and drove off. The night was too dark to see their license plates._

_Feeling as though she'd just witnessed something significant, Shelly stayed motionless for a while, then turned on her car and drove up loudly into her father's driveway to give him warning. He was already opening the door as she raised her hand to knock._

"_What's wrong?" Shelly asked immediately as her father greeted her. He already had the press pass in his hand, and she took it from him with a thanks._

"_Ah, nothing gets past you, mija." The old man said. "It is this job. I was so excited at first but it is just more… political than I thought it would be. I am disturbed."_

"_I thought it was purely scientific?"_

"_Darling, science is always associated with politics," Mr. Sandoval sighed. "We just had a rather startling failure recently. It was… something I would prefer not to discuss even were I authorized."_

* * *

"That's all I can remember," Shelly said, voice cracking.

"No, no, Shelly, don't cry," Frieda said. "It helps a lot to know what kind of business your father was dealing with."

"That's right, stop it," Madelyn sneered at Shelly from her place on the fallen log. "Maybe soon you'll stop overreacting and we can get things done."

"Okay! Okay!" Richie cut in sharply before Frieda or Shelly could speak. "Let's take a break. Madelyn? I want to talk to you. Alone. Now."

The other two women were looking murderous. Madelyn petulantly pushed herself up and limped toward Richie, who gave Frieda a knowing and apologetic look. The redhead paused and nodded in return, turning away as Richie pulled Madelyn through the brush and out of earshot of the others. The dead layer of leaves crumbled and crackled under their feet. Once alone, they stood between two oaks with intertwining branches overhead. The light that sifted through the canopy was startlingly bright and orange, and the occasional brown leaf drifted down around them.

"What the _hell_, Madelyn!" Richie burst out once he'd made sure they wouldn't be heard. He threw his arm to the side and pointed back towards the clearing. His metal bracelet reflected a flash of white light into the woods. "The woman just lost her father!"

"Yeah, well I lost a lot of things but you don't see me crying about it." Madelyn answered, shifting her weight and causing a rustling beneath them.

"You're a headcase, you know that right? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't care if you think I'm a bitch, I'm just telling the truth." She sniffed.

"Oh no. You know what I think, Madelyn?" Richie said suddenly, advancing on her. "I think all your snobbiness, all your control freak-ness, all of your high-and-mighty attitude - I think it's all just a defense mechanism."

"Oh yeah?" Madelyn demanded, eyes flashing, feet planted firmly. "Against what, your stupidity?"

"Ha. No," Richie said. "Against all those people at school who used to laugh at you."

She hesitated.

"And you know what else I think?" Richie continued, drawing closer with blue eyes narrowed behind dark rimmed glasses. "I think that all you are is a lonely little girl who just happened to get juiced with Bang Baby gas, and instead of using her powers for good, wanted to get revenge."

He was right in front of her now, and she looked up at him angrily. She squared her narrow shoulders and refused to move, and when it was obvious that he wasn't planning to either, she shoved him hard in his chest.

"Hey, hey, watch it, Randy Savage," Richie taunted, swaying a little. Her arms pulled back to shove him again and he caught her by the wrists. "What are you doing, trying to steal Hulk Hogan's title?"

"You don't even _know_ me," Madelyn hissed through clenched teeth, wrenching her hands free.

"No, I guess I don't," Richie admitted easily. He tapped his finger against his temple with his trademark sardonic, sideways grin. It transformed his boyish face, making him seem younger. "But I am a super genius, you know. Intuition comes with the territory."

She snorted in a very unladylike manner.

"Look, Madelyn," Richie said with a defeated sigh, uncharacteristically bleak. He was struck with a sudden longing to see his best friend again. Virgil certainly didn't cause him this much stress. "I know we've never been friends. Rivals maybe, but I don't hate you. For real. I know we'll never be tight. All I want is a truce. Stop taking out all your anger on us, and now especially Shelly, because it's counterproductive and irritating."

"Well, if you want that, I want an explanation," The girl stated bluntly. The breeze was stirring her silky hair like a black halo and again Richie thought of her lost barrette. They were standing so close that it seemed only natural to reach forward and tuck that stray lock behind her ear… but he stopped himself, narrowly avoiding the awkwardness that would have followed. "Tell me why."

Richie blinked behind his glasses and swallowed, still distracted by the strange compulsion. This conversation was taking a much different turn than he expected. "Um. What?"

"You're the super genius," She mocked. "Shouldn't a grasp of the obvious come with the territory?"

"Are you talking about… uh…"

"Yes, Foley."

"Madelyn, it's not really important anymore," He stalled.

"Foley," She pressed.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "No."

"I deserve to know." The girl was nothing if not persistent. Kind of admirable, when it wasn't annoying. Richie sighed.

"I… You have to understand. I had no choice. Static put you away and it was for everyone's good. You can't deny that you did harm a lot of people."

"So I used a little mind control for week at DUHS and gave Static a couple bruises," She scoffed, waving her hand in the air as if brushing away a fly. "The biggest problems I ever caused in Dakota were some disruptions within the Metabreed. I was locked in that cell and drugged and sedated for months. Half the time I didn't know where I was. I wasn't allowed contact with anyone and I was straight jacketed. It was torture."

"It shouldn't have been that way," He said with a frown.

"It was excessive and unnecessary!"

"My answer is still no."

"Foley, I know you don't tell people even half of what you know. Everything you do, you have ulterior motives that even Static doesn't know. I've been in your head, Richie. I'm the only person who has the smallest idea what you do with that big brain of yours."

Richie made an exasperated noise. "What do you want from me, Madelyn?"

"The truth!" She said harshly. Richie's indecision was written plainly on his face. She looked at him expectantly.

"You don't know what you're asking."

"Tell me." She commanded.

"You had too much potential," It all came out in a rush with a force like a breaking dam and surprised both of them. When he continued Richie's voice was pained, barely a whisper. "Too much power. I could see it but... you didn't even understand it yourself. If you had honed it, found the mental stability and actually used it with true clarity and intention, you would have been too much for Static to handle. Eventually, a potential threat to the Justice League. That's why. It was… It was a preemptive measure." He looked down, afraid to meet her eyes. "Madelyn, I'm sorry." He implored. "Look, if you blame anyone, blame me. Virgil has no idea."

She was uncharacteristically quiet, and Richie tensed as the seconds crept by. They stood together, silent. He pushed his glasses up nervously and waited for the blow up, the indignant attitude.

"Was I ever going to be told this?" The girl whispered after an age. Her fingers itched, aching for her powers like a phantom limb.

"Honestly?" Richie answered. "No. Probably not."

There was no response.

"But I have a theory," Richie said desperately, grasping at straws. He was used to bold, confident, even rude Madelyn. This quiet, unhappy version of Madelyn was unsettling him. Like it upset the natural order of things. She finally looked up at him and her eyes made his breath catch.

"Madelyn, I -" He hesitated.

"Richie!" Frieda's voice rang out. It broke the spell.

"Go," Madelyn said. "Leave me alone."

"I just don't think you should be –"

"Richie!" Frieda called again.

"Just go, Foley."

He took half a step back toward the clearing and glanced over his shoulder.

"Go!"

So he left her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My favorite part of this chapter is this last convo between Madelyn and Richie - I love the idea of him being the one who actually pays attention to the future and masterminds all kinds of shit. Static is just like "la la la put away a psycho let's go eat pizza" and whereas Richie is like "let me make sure I got this bitch under lock and key cause she could kick everybody's ass later and I'm not tryna deal with that shit." lol

Also, I'm still in love with the Madelyn and Richie love/hate romance, and it is progressing. Hopefully you guys like it. They just don't have a Disney relationship where they fall in love in two days.

Lol next chapter is half written. Much more action, maybe a flashback, and also Virgil, Mr. Hawkins, and Mrs. Foley! Idk who has bothered to keep tabs on this story, but if you have somehow… I would love, love, love a review. Please. Thanks!


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